


Songs Not Made For Love (Our Soundtrack)

by Jules_Ink



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Action & Romance, F/M, Olicity!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-18 21:55:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 56,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2363492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jules_Ink/pseuds/Jules_Ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strangely, when his brain had rebooted, the first thought that crossed his mind was that an “Executive Assistant” really would NOT improve this. Not at all. Because there on the screen stood, sprawled out in the lime green letters that were the trademark of the most notorious gossip side ever, “Oliver Queen engaged to secretary.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tick Tick Boom

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I'm Jules and I'm new to this archive. Arrow is the one TV show that's gets me excited at the moment, and the main reason for this is the amazing Olicity-chemistry. With this story I'm trying to do it justice and to capture the characters as best as I can. Don't expect a quick Olicity-fix, because, you know, it's complicated for them. ;-) I will integrate some things from the show and ignore others that don't fit this AU-plot. You'll see. I hope you like this story and enjoy reading it. I'd really appreciate a quick comment. Let me know what you think. Love, Jules. <3
> 
> I obviously don't own anything (but Felicity's nemesis) and I mean no harm.

**1.** **Tick Tick Boom (The Hives)  
**   
“Talk to me, Felicity.”  
  
His tone was demanding; his voice was hard. The combination of both left no room for protest; it was an order that needed to be answered.  
  
And she did. “You need to turn right. Right now."  
  
She nearly stumbled over her words, saying them so quickly, rushing them out to get him the information he needed as quickly as possible. There was her own version of urgency in her voice. He heard it and knew that she was focused on her computer screens, while her fingers raced over her keyboard. He heard it, and he knew that she was in working mode as much as he was.  
  
His hands tightened their grip on the steering wheel of his motorcycle as he threw it into a sudden right turn only to then turn the gas up again. Rain was pouring down on him, making the back wheel of his bike slinger behind him. It was the wrong night for a high speed pursuit on overcrowded streets, but he kept speeding ahead while his eyes scanned the street before him. He saw nothing. Adrenaline was soaring through his body and now it was mixing with annoyance at the thought that this guy might have actually shaken him off. “Felicity, he's not here.”  
  
“He must be there!” came her voice through his ear piece.  
  
The annoyance in him grew. Saying that something must be when it clearly wasn't, just wasn't helpful. “HE ISN'T! Find him, right NOW!”  
  
He was yelling at her, letting his frustrations out at her, he knew, but couldn't stop it. He wouldn't stop it, because he didn't have time to waste thoughts on this, when he needed all his attention on finding, fighting and capturing the man who had detonated three bombs in this city, in HIS city, while rain was limiting his vision and the grip of his bike on the cement. He was in full Arrow-mode, there was no way to hold anything back. She had been confronted with him on an adrenaline high often enough to know this side of him very well, as unflattering as it might be.  
  
“His phone is right in front of you.” Her voice sounded unfazed in his ear. He imagined he could hear the clicking of the keyboard as her fingers flew over it, doing whatever she was doing. “Everything's working perfectly. I can't find him again, because I already found him,” she told him in the next moment, before she repeated, “He _must_ be there.”  
  
He slowed down a little, while his eyes were still scanning the street. “He's NOT here!”  
  
“That can _not_ be happening.” Felicity's words matched his own thoughts perfectly. He was about to lash out at her again, when she spoke up first, the words, again, leaving her mouth in a rushed tumble. “But it is happening, actually this has happened before. Back then we had the right coordinates but the wrong altitude.” He remembered what she was referring to and was already scanning the sidewalk for the next subway station, when she said, “I'm pulling up the map of the underground tracks right now.”  
  
Oliver found an station, steered his motorbike toward it and down the stairs. His wheels rumbled down the steps till he finally reached the ground. The engine roared as he turned the gas up again, the sound ringing through the tiled tunnel that led to the subway platform. People jumped out of his way, flattening themselves against the walls, while he sped past them toward even more stairs. He slowed down again, rattling down the stairs till he, finally, reached the platform. “Talk to me, Felicity.” It was his way of asking her for directions. But when he put the hood on, he never asked for answers, he demanded them.  
  
It took her a moment till she reacted. “He's heading east. Take the right tunnel.”  
  
Maneuvering his bike between a pillar and a plastic bench, he headed toward the tracks, jumped down onto them and aimed for the right black hole. He accelerated once again, more than he had before when people had been around, and the roaring of the engine was all around him. He raced through the tunnel, his vision worse than it had been overground in the pouring rain, hoping that he wouldn't be faced with bright lights coming toward him.  
  
“I stopped the trains.” Sometimes he swore Felicity could read his mind. But he knew it was just her doing her part, using her expertise and looking out for him. She always thought along and ahead, considering every little detail. “I wouldn't want you to be faced with _that_ kind of light at the end of the tunnel.” And that was perfectly her, too. But he was too much in Arrow-mode to react.  
  
Right now, the darkness around him was getting lighter with each moment until he suddenly sped through another station. He didn't waste one thought on what it might look like to the people waiting on the platform, looking after the figure in dark-green leather speeding past where a train was supposed to be; instead he concentrated on not loosing control over his bike. He was back in the dark tunnel in the next moment, when suddenly Diggle spoke up, “SCPD just received an anonymous call; somebody claimed there's a bomb planted on train 173.” His friend sounded calm, “It might be a trick. He must know you're following him.”  
  
Diggle was absolutely right, Oliver knew and, instantly, the annoyance was back in full force. The Bomber was probably trying to get him off his back, lure him away from him. But... “I cannot take this chance.” He slowed his bike and was about to ask for directions, when Felicity beat him to it and said, “Train 173 was headed for the Glades when I stopped it. It's standing in Bridgewater Station which is... in the opposite direction.”  
  
Of course, it was. He slowed down, threw his bike around, accelerated forcefully and sped into the opposite direction. He passed the same platform again, this time headed the other way, and kept going. He had passed two more stations, when Diggle spoke up again, “SCPD is evacuating. They've called bomb squad, but still they're 20 minutes out.”  
  
“You need to follow the right tracks,” Felicity added, moments before the points were even illuminated by his headlight.  
  
He followed her directions, seeing a train full of passengers standing on the parallel track. “You need to get the people in those trains out of here."  
  
“Excuse me for wanting to let you pass first!” Now it was her sounding annoyed. “Remember the bad light at the end of the tunnel?”  
  
Again, he didn't react to that. It was the usual crisis high tensions. He barked at her, she snapped back while Diggle kept his calm. The fact that John Diggle was the calming influence in their trio was proven when he brought them back to the topic at hand by stating, “Oliver, you're still five minutes away.”  
  
If he had been able to go any faster, he would have. His body was tense, his jaw clenched, his mouth a tight line while he sped in a tunnel that was not made for motorbikes; but he kept going, pressing forward to whatever was waiting for him there. He had to be really close, when a gasp hit his ears. Instantly, the hair on his neck stood up. When Felicity made such a sound it was always bad. His suspicion was confirmed only instants later, when she pressed out, “Oliver, turn around! You need to turn around, get away from there!” The urge in her voice made him react instantly. He was already slowing to a speed that allowed him to steer his bike into any direction that wasn't straight ahead, when she added, “The anonymous call was so not a trick!”  
  
Oliver didn't need Diggle explaining, “Train 173 exploded,” to know that exactly that had just happened. Because there it was: the light in the tunnel coming toward him. Flickering and hotly bright the flames of fire crawled through the tight tube. He couldn't outrun them, he knew immediately. Quickly, he looked around and felt his heart make a relieved jump as he saw the door in the wall just a few meters away. Carelessly, he let his bike drop to the tracks and ran toward the door. Not bothering to try the door handle, he used the momentum he had build up running and slammed the sole of his right foot against it.  
  
The metal door rattled, but didn't bulge.  
  
His mouth tightened again as he brought his foot up to kick the door again and again and again, more frantic with each kick as he felt the heat coming closer – until, finally, the lock gave up under his relentless onslaught; the door swung open. He rushed into the tiny room behind it, slammed the door shut and leaned against it. His breathing was heavy as he closed his eyes. He needed a moment to collect himself, because contrary to what some people might believe he still wasn't unfazed by near-death experiences. He felt that his hands shake and made a fist, clenching them so tightly that his knuckles turned white.  
  
“Oliver...”  
  
Felicity's voice was small, fearful, and he knew that she needed reassurance. “I'm fine,” he said. But his voice held an edge that made it clear that he was only talking about his physical condition. Because he was angry, furious even. This whole mission had been a complete failure. He had let this guy fool him, jerk him around and make him run for his life.  
  
“We'll get him next time,” Diggle said, once again proving how in sync they all were when it came to this. “We'll be better prepared then. We won't let him outsmart us again.”  
  
“No.” Oliver sounded deadly determined. “We won't!”

 

*******

 

Felicity walked with purpose. There was no other way for Oliver to describe it. She knew where she was headed, she didn't take tentative little steps, but sure strides – no matter how high her heels were. Which was why he was glancing toward the door now as he heard the distinct clicking sound that accompanied Felicity while walking. She was just coming to a stop a few steps into the office.  
  
“Mr. Queen,” she said politely in her best EA-voice. “I am sorry to interrupt, but your next meeting is coming up.”  
  
There was no next meeting. But he had asked her to rescue him after one hour. That was more than enough time for the reporter to ask him questions he didn't have a real answer to. Question like what exactly qualified Oliver to be CEO of a Future 500 company – the fact that he had dropped out of four top schools? Or that he had managed to decently manage a nightclub that lived off his image as a playboy? Or that he had been away from civilization for five years? The last question was the worst, actually. The reporter, Cliffort Kent, from the Starling Times wasn't here to play nice, which – objectively – was a good trait in a journalist, but which Oliver subjectively hated with a passion.  
  
But the PR department had insisted that he did this. And no matter, if he much rather drove through a subway tunnel toward an armed bomb than giving an interview, he had to participate in this spread about Starling City's billionaires and the upcoming generation of businessmen. And, to be fair, most questions had actually been about the company and his future plan for it as the man in charge – even if most questions had implied that he had no plan and was the perfectly wrong man for this job.  
  
So, of course, Oliver jumped at the opportunity. “Yes, thank you, Miss Smoak.” He sent Felicity, his savior, a thankful smile, before he turned back to the journalist, who was glancing at his watch. “I am sorry, Mr. Kent,” Oliver stated, while already moving off his seat, getting ready to dismiss the reporter in the quickest way that could still be considered polite. “But, as you mentioned yourself, I have a business to run.” He accompanied that hint with his best CEO-smile – the kind that never reached his eyes. “I hope you have everything you need.”  
  
Mr. Kent nodded. “I think I do. If not, I will contact Mrs. Sullivan.”  
  
The idea that the head of QC's PR department took care of anything else appealed to Oliver very much. He held his hand out to the man. “Yes, please do.”  
  
Cliffort Kent took Oliver's offered hand and shook it. “Thank you, Mr. Queen.”  
  
“You're welcome. And thank you for including Queen Consolidated in your spread.” Polite lies, Oliver had mastered them.  
  
The men shared another polite smile before Felicity directed Mr. Kent toward the elevator. Sighing, Oliver sank back down on the black leather seat that was placed with its back against the window giving him a perfect view around his large office as well as Felicity's office to his right and the conference room ahead since both were separated by glass walls. He was exhausted. Blocking out the office view, he closed his eyes.  
  
Last night, when he had finally made it back to the lair, he had still been pumped, high on adrenaline and anger, and he had needed to vent both. He had attacked his training dummy with everything he had till his hands had felt numb. He had to admit that while he had done that Diggle and Felicity had thought rationally about their next step. The result had been Felicity hacking into the surveillance system of Starling City's subway system to identify the man only known as The Bomber and to find out where he had escaped to.  
  
They had mapped the exact route of his underground escape – but that was it. This was much work for a whole lot of nothing, and that was just utterly exhausting. A sudden banging from behind him startled Oliver into alertness – which in his case meant that his eyes snapped open as he jumped off the seat to his feet, his muscles tensed and his body ready to strike. But there was nobody, nothing to strike against. He was greeted with an empty room. Slowly, he turned around and his eyes connected with those of a window washer, who was staring at him stupidly from the outside of the glass. Realizing that the man doing his job had been the reason for the unexpected noise, he relaxed, but couldn't help but feel slightly caught. Normal people didn't react the way he just had to a simple tapping against the window. This here was another proof that he just wasn't normal – and sometimes that was all he longed for: normalcy, being ordinary. But he knew that he never would be, he never could be.  
  
He sent the window washer, who was still looking at him with suspicion, an apologetic smile and turned toward the door from where he heard Felicity walk toward him. Her steps were heavier than normal, he realized, she must be angry. He sent her a look full of question. She understood and answered immediately. “That reporter had the nerve to ask me what the working atmosphere was like here at QC. Said he was trying to get a feeling what kind of boss you are.” Her hands flew up as she now drew invisible quotation marks in the air. “'Off the record', of course.” She had started talking quickly, but picked up her pace with each word. “Like I would fall for that again. Last time I answered that question I was thrown out of Prof. Mindell's class – which was record breaking since nobody had ever even _failed_ an 'Introduction to the history of technology' before. But, in my defense, you could never wear a skirt to his class, because he would keep staring at your legs. If _that_ doesn't count as inappropriate behavior for a teacher, I really don't know what does!”  
  
In the lair he mostly cut off her rambles and forced her to get to the point. But right now there really was no rush. Still, he felt like the fact that the reporter had tried to get some dirt out of her was more relevant to the current situation. “Kent tried to question you?”  
  
She walked over to where he stood by the seats next to a small table and nodded. “Yes, he also wanted to know, if we spent any time together outside of work.” His lips tightened as he inhaled deeply. She knew what this meant perfectly and hurried to add, “I just told him that the elevator had arrived and wished him a nice day.”  
  
He hadn't worried about what she had said. Felicity might be a babbler, but his Executive Assistant was astonishingly small lipped. Maybe it was her worry to say something wrong that made her say as little as possible. She hadn't been the reason for the tension in his face, the reporter had been. How could Kent put Felicity in a situation like this? That man really didn't play nice.  
  
“I mean what else should I have said?” Apparently, Felicity had switched her EA-mode off, because she was still talking full force. “It would hardly be appropriate to tell him how we spent our nights together.”  
  
The tension left his lips as he had to smirk at her choice of words; it was so typically her. He nodded agreement, playfully repeating, “Hardly.”  
  
Another bump came from behind him, reminding Oliver of the window washer. He was pretty sure that the guy outside in the blue working overall couldn't hear a word that was spoken inside, but he didn't want to take any chances. They had made it a rule to have no direct Arrow-talk at QC, if it was possible to avoid it.  
  
It was that rule that made him ask cryptically, “Have you made any progress in our research?”  
  
“I have.” This caused interest to show up on his face, and she seemed happy that she could give him good news for once. “I have very promising data. I narrowed it down to three possible locations for...” she searched for a fittingly vague word for a second before settling on, “...an engagement. I hope I will be down to just one by tonight.”  
  
He was about to react to these really great news when he was distracted once again by somebody coming toward them. He was surprised to see Cliffort Kent passing Felicity's desk. “Mr. Kent,” he greeted him, straightening up and putting his CEO-mask back on, “did you forget anything?”  
  
“As a matter of fact, I did.” An apologetic look on his face, the skinny man with the badly fitted suit walked toward Oliver and Felicity. “I forgot my phone.” He motioned toward the table between the leather seats where a black iPhone was resting. The reporter quickly reached for it and sent Oliver another smile. “Thank you again for your time.” He nodded to Felicity and headed back out.  
  
Suspicion awoke in Oliver as he watched Kent walk away. He seemed to be hurrying while trying not to appear like he was in a hurry at all. It was too forcedly casual. But before he could really register and analyze this, Diggle suddenly appeared. Marching with heavy steps toward them he said. “Mr. Queen, we have to go. Your schedule changed, you have to get to the suit fitting right away.”  
  
The feeling that they really needed to work on their coded conversations popped up in Oliver's head, but he dismissed it instantly. Because not only his friend's words, but also his stiff posture made it absolutely clear: It was time to suit up.

 

*******

 

Being the Arrow mostly was a night job. But right now he was dressed in green leather while the sun was shining down from a cloudless sky. Well, he certainly had a better vision than he had last night in the pouring rain as he now stood on the rooftop of a building looking down at the people streaming out of Starling City's most popular mall. This target fit the Bomber perfectly; it was a crowded place with a high number of possible victims, it was public and located at an interchange that allowed for a quick escape.  
  
Why the Bomber did what he did, it puzzled Oliver. Because even though he chose very public places, he always called ahead. He clearly didn't care, if people were killed, but his warnings had reduced the number of victims. There had never been any letter claiming responsibility that named a reason, a cause – however twisted – for these acts of violence. This guy just went and planted bombs in highly frequented public places, spreading fear. A cinema had been hit first. A nightclub had followed. Verdant's biggest rival had gone up in flames with nearly 20 people dying in the blast. Felicity's hint that another night club owner might have hired the Bomber to neutralize competition had been typically her – and very much still besides the point. Because the next bomb had gone off in Starling City's only zoo. If one local attraction was unrivaled, it was that one. Last night a bar, a theatre and the library had been hit simultaneously, followed by a subway train. Today the Bomber had started early, in the afternoon, to strike again. It felt like it was getting worse. Oliver knew he had to stop him; it had to end tonight... Or rather: today.  
  
“The bomb squad arrived,” Diggle informed him now. From his spot on the roof Oliver saw the men in their protective wear arrive. He could also see where Diggle parked. It was a good position, giving him a perfect view on the mall and onto the escape route the Bomber would most likely choose – at least according to Felicity's calculations based on the data they had gathered last night during that complete fail of a mission. Diggle had chosen the exact spot Oliver would have taken to wait until he could spring into action. That just proved again: Diggle was a professional, a real asset, an important part of their team – and a great friend, but that was irrelevant for what lay ahead.  
  
“Let them take care of the bomb. We'll go after the Bomber,” Oliver instructed now, knowing that it was the only way to stop this.  
  
“Do you even know how to disarm a bomb?” Felicity wanted to know. It really wouldn't be Felicity, if she didn't add a question to his orders. It was even more typical that she had asked a question that was only loosely connected to the situation at hand.  
  
“Yes, I learned it in Afghanistan.” That was Diggle, the former soldier, talking. He had real expertize; Oliver had only second hand knowledge, but he didn't feel like sharing that. Instead, he continued to take in his surroundings, until his eyes landed on the building next to him. He didn't know why, but he had a feeling about it. He couldn't explain it, but he was very sure that the Bomber was there. The guy had always stuck around to watch the explosion – maybe that was the simple explanation for everything: He just enjoyed blowing stuff up.  
  
The roof Oliver was on had the most perfect view, but nobody else had shown up. Maybe, the Bomber had – for whatever reason – gone for the second best option, which was the next door building. Oliver's gut was telling him that the Bomber had. And his gut had saved Oliver's life many times already. Call it sixth sense, call it intuition, call it dumb luck, but it had always worked till now – and Oliver believed in never changing a running system.  
  
He started moving, running toward the edge of the building, gathering momentum to push himself off the ground. He flew through the air – the gap that was created by two ten story buildings gaping below him –, landed on the neighboring rooftop rolling off his right shoulder to reduce the impact. In the next moment he was on his feet and moving again toward the door that lead into the building.  
  
“Oliver, where are you going?”  
  
He didn't answer Felicity's question, but instead aimed an exploding arrow at the door lock. The thought that he could have done that last night in the subway tunnel popped up in his head for a second, but in his hurry to escape the nearing fire of the explosion, he had relayed on brute force. Well, whatever worked. Pushing this absolutely useless thoughts out of his mind, he threw the door open and entered the narrow staircase behind it. Taking two steps at a time, he hurried down the stairs, but reflexively stopped when he heard Felicity gasp an “Oh, crap!”  
  
“What!” he demanded to know.  
  
“He just turned his phone on. You were right, Oliver, he's in this building.” He was already moving again, when she added, “That's all I can tell you. I have no idea what floor he's on.”  
  
Again, Oliver didn't answer. He didn't tell her that she had already performed a miracle when she had connected the phone to their Bomber last night. She had begun to explain it to him – mentioning cell towers, hacking Starling Mobile, a search algorithm – but had stopped herself as soon as she had seen his face. He had been ready to go out there and not in the mood for any delays. She had done her part, now it was time for him to do his.  
  
He had just taken the last steps of the small stairs and was about to open the door leading to the top floor, when he heard Diggle's calm voice. “He wants to have a front row view on the explosion,” his friend reasoned now. “He must be in one of the apartments on the top floor with mall-view.”  
  
With long strides Oliver entered the hall. He saw doors left and right, but knew that only those on the left mattered. Not hesitating, he walked to the first one and kicked it open. He was greeted by a shocked woman in a cheesy maid's uniform – including a bonnet – who let out a strangled scream. Wrong apartment. Not reacting to the distraught woman, he turned back around, ready to attack the next door.  
  
Angry barking greeted him there, a sound equally unpleasant for mailmen and vigilantes alike. His face tightened as he unhappily reached for his quiver, but Felicity's voice stopped him, “Try apartment 908, one floor below you.” Trusting her suggestion without question, Oliver was already running toward the stairs, when he heard her ramble on, “Apparently, even households have Facebook groups now. And the Mastersons were kind enough to inform their neighbors that they would be vacationing in Tahiti for three weeks. But the current power usage suggests that this apartment is not empty. And, people, this is why you shouldn't post this kind of information on the internet! Even though... Tahiti sounds good.”  
  
That was the moment Oliver arrived at his destination: apartment 908. Another door was kicked in with a loud cracking sound. One second Oliver had been about to strike, in the next his well-trained reflexes kicked in. He had barely registered that something was coming toward him, when his back was already flat against the wall next to the door, the bow in his hand resting against his chest. He saw a throwing net fly past him and against the opposite wall with a loud bang. Oliver glanced at it for a short instant as it lay sprawled out on the thick blue carpet that covered the floor of the hall. Nets were trouble, because they restricted movement. That could have been a serious problem.  
  
Anger was growing inside Oliver – and he planned to put it to some good use. He brought his bow up, reached for an arrow and stepped around the corner. He registered four, no, five men. The first was immobilized by an arrow though his quadriceps, the second by a fist tightly closed around a bow breaking his nose while a slammed down foot in his popliteal space shattered his knee. Oliver twirled around, balancing his weight on his right foot while he brought his left up. The man who had been coming toward him walked right into it. Not really acknowledging the third body that was dropping to the floor, Oliver straightened up again to slam his palm against the throat of a forth man, leaving him snapping for air helplessly, before Oliver brought his knee up and his fist down. It resulted in a fourth dropped body. They all had been muscular, heavy and strong. But Oliver knew that the real challenge was the man standing by the window with a remote in his hand. He was small and thin – no wonder he had hired bodyguards.  
  
“Drop the remote!” Oliver ordered in his distorted Arrow-voice.  
  
The man just looked at him. Desperation was visible in his eyes – without a doubt the shock to be finally caught.  
  
“I said, DROP the remote!” Oliver brought a threatening hand up and warned, “Don't make me tell you a third time!”  
  
He didn't. Instead, the Bomber jumped head first out of the window.

 

*******

 

He preferred being the Arrow to being a CEO. Oliver didn't let himself dwell on what that said about him. But as he now rode up the elevator to the top floor of the QC-building he had to admit that he would much rather walk down the metallic stairs of the Foundry. Especially after last nig-, last afternoon's events.  
  
Once word got out of the four bound muscle men in apartment 908, the crashed body on the sidewalk in front of the building and the Arrow-sighting on the scene, speculation had run wild if the Arrow had pushed the suspected bomber to let him fall into his death. The police had released a statement that claimed to have found no evidence to confirm or deny this theory – which wasn't exactly helpful. Even Detective Lance had admitted that. Felicity had filled him in on the events of the afternoon with a rather lengthy explanation that involved the hint that the Arrow was done dropping bodies, so he wouldn't now start to push people out of windows only to be dropping bodies quite literally.  
  
Oliver really wished he would have captured the guy alive. He really would have liked to hear his explanation why he had planted those bombs. Because, really, it made no sense. It made even less sense now that they knew how he was. Or rather: had been. Laurence Burton had been a physics teacher at a local high school. He had been voted the teacher most likely to cut students some slack. He had a wife, a son and a baby on the way. Not the typical guy to go blow stuff up and jump put a window.  
  
“Mr. Queen.”  
  
A female voice ripped him out of his thoughts. Before he had been staring ahead, thinking, not really seeing anything, but now he registered the brunette, who had just greeted him when she had entered the elevator. Oliver had no idea who she was, and he had no idea if he should know. So, he just settled on a small, polite smile and took a small step to the left.  
  
He was on his way to the top floor of QC surrounded by the mirrored walls of the elevator. He really should let yesterday's events go. The Bomber was stopped, this danger was eliminated – and that was really all that mattered. Instead, he should focus on being CEO of this company. He should focus on the meetings ahead that were very important. Board members were displeased with his way of leading the company. Actually, they were displeased with his general lack of leadership. So, they were getting antsy, threatening to sell their shares, which had to be prevented at all costs. Really, he should concentrate on this and get his head in the game. His employees were depending on him. Employees like the woman next to him... Who was trying to watch him inconspicuously out of the corner of her eyes. She tried to be sneaky about it, but he noticed – even though he acted like he didn't. She was really sizing him up. He had to admit that had happened to him before, women checking him out, but it had happened while he had been partying, at clubs. It had never happened at work, at his own company. The thought that her behavior was really inappropriate popped up in his head, but then the elevator came to a stop. Now looking openly at him, she sent him another smile and left the elevator.  
  
One minute later Oliver was walking toward Felicity's desk. She was already sitting at it. No matter how late the previous night had gotten, she always was at work before him. Normally, she greeted him with a smile. He never knew, if the smile was for him or the latte he always brought her. It was a small thing, but he knew it was a gesture she appreciated. It had made her smile the first time he had done it – and he really liked seeing her smile. By now it had become a routine.  
  
A routine that was broken today, because today she didn't welcome him a with smile. In fact, she didn't even seem to register him. Her eyes were glued to her computer screen, her lips, colored in a light red, were slightly opened, her back was stiff. He tipped his head to the side in interest, studying her as he stepped to the desk and stopped in front of it. She was in full working mode, the really intense one she normally reserved for the Foundry. He took another moment to study her, thinking that she really was quite the sight. A slight smile played around his lips as he placed one coffee filed paper cup on her desk. “Looks like you really need this.”  
  
His voice made her jump. Startled, her eyes flew to him and what he saw in them caused him to frown. The normal gleam that brightened her eyes was missing, instead he saw... Something he couldn't quite place, but that most definitely wasn't good.  
  
His voice was soft as he asked, “Felicity?”  
  
“It's Executive Assistant.”  
  
The frown grew stronger. “What?”  
  
“Executive Assistant, not secretary."  
  
Was that supposed to explain anything? Because, really, it didn't. He continued to stare at her, waiting for her to finally say something that made sense. But she kept quiet. She just turned her computer screen toward him so that he could see what she had been looking at. Instantly, he a cold jolt shot through him, followed by a hot one. He froze to the spot, feeling paralyzed as his brain shut down for a second.  
  
Strangely, when it had rebooted, the first thought that crossed his mind was that an “executive assistant” really would NOT improve this. Not at all. Because there on the screen stood, sprawled out in the lime green letters that were the trademark of the most notorious gossip side ever: _“_ Oliver Queen engaged to secretary _."_


	2. Cheap Comments

**2\. Cheap Comments (Beatsteaks** )  
  
It was rare that Felicity Smoak was stunned into silence. Normally, Felicity had something to say about everything – and once she had started she was hard to stop. Felicity was a talker. Okay, she was a babbler, a rambler. She had quite a lot of foot in mouth situations; but it nearly never happened that the cat got her tongue. Which was pretty good, actually, because she was allergic to cats. Getting in contact with their fur caused her nose to run and her eyes to turn red and... It just wasn't pretty. Her first roommate at MIT, Amanda Smalls, had tried to talk Felicity into adopting a cat. An idea like that could only come from a girl studying “Comparative Media Studies”. Of course, she had the time to look after a cat! This whole living arrangement had never been meant to be...  
  
Realizing that she had gotten a little off topic, she pulled herself together, and tried to come up with a reasonable explanation why Starling's Gossip Network was telling the world that Oliver and she were engaged. But Felicity couldn't think of any reason why that should make _any_ sense  
  
But at least she now understood why people had stared at her on the way through the lobby earlier. And in the crowded elevator. And in the break room, when she had put her salad in the fridge. They had all known... Or thought they knew something, when they knew _nothing_. Because there was just nothing to know anything about.  
  
Her eyes travelled over the lime green letters again, taking them in, before she let them glide lower and started reading the text underneath the huge headline:  
  
“ __Oliver Queen is hardly the first CEO to bed his secretary, but it seems like this is more serious than a rump on the desk with a great view over the city... Rumors have been circulating for some time that the relationship between the returned billionaire and his blonde secretary, Felicity Smoke, is anything but purely professional. Now a source close to the couple confirms, 'They are very much in love.' The insider reveals the big proposal happened two weeks ago, but the couple have kept quiet until now. 'They are planning a party to reveal the big news. Felicity just can't decide on the perfect location.' The notorious playboy Oliver Queen settling down? Many thought they'd never see the day. No matter how long this marriage may actually last: For Felicity Smoke, a nobody in Starling's who's who until now, it is most definitely a big catch."  
  
That was so offensive! The article contained so many awful things that it combined to the most offensive thing in the history of extreme offensiveness. Felicity didn't even know which part of it was the worst. The rump on the desk was really insulting. The idea that she would be into a big engagement announcement party was just wrong. And the last sentence left a bitter taste in her mouth, because she wasn't some gold digger. Just like Oliver wasn't just some billionaire playboy bedding his underlings. Okay, she __was a nobody in Starling's who's who – the fact that they had spelled her name wrong proved this – but that still didn't mean that she liked reading it. She didn't like reading her name – no matter the spelling – on some internet gossip platform. Not in general. But especially not in this exact context!  
  
“Looks like you really need this.”  
  
Oliver's voice ripped her out of her train of thought, which had been angrily speeding ahead. She flinched in her seat, and her eyes snapped to him. It took her a heartbeat to realize that his statement was referring to the latte he was just placing on her desk. Not that she really believed Oliver to think that she needed this offensive piece of bad journalism. Was it even considered journalism when it was nothing but a collection of lies? Her friend Anna Krug, who had worked for the MIT paper, had once told her that the most important thing a journalist had to do was to make sure all names were spelled correctly, because names were news. So, that article counted as an epic journalistic fail.  
  
Even though, Felicity didn't really mind the spelling error when it came to her name. At least Google wouldn't automatically connect Felicity Smoke, a boss-bedding gold digger, to Felicity Smoak, summa cum laude MIT graduate. Felicity Smoke sounded like a disgrace, really. She-  
  
“Felicity?”  
  
Oliver's soft voice stopped her right there. And finally her tongue dared to move again. Strangely, the first words it formed were, “It's Executive Assistant.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Executive Assistant,” she repeated, adding, “not secretary.”  
  
Seeing that he really had no idea what she was talking about – she shouldn't be surprised, Oliver was not the kind of guy to read gossip on the internet – she decided that he needed to see this for himself. She brought her hands up and turned the computer screen toward him.  
  
The following moment was the first time she had ever seen Oliver truly shell-shocked. He stared at the monitor and all color drained from his face. It lasted a few seconds, before he fought for his composure again. He brought both of his hands up to his eyes, his fingertips lightly touching his eyebrows, and slowly, softly blew air out between his lips.  
  
Felicity had seen Oliver inhale sharply uncounted times. It was a clear sign of anger and the try to keep that anger in, but she had never seen him cautiously exhale like this, in an effort to steady himself and steel himself for what was coming.  
  
It didn't last long. He was switching on his battle mode in the next moment. Felicity knew, because she could dimly hear the edge in his voice that she always connected to the Arrow as he now asked, “Can you take it down?”  
  
Her voice was careful and quiet, “I could. But I don't know, if I should...” She motioned around herself, “...from here...” In the Foundry she knew that she was as good as untraceable, but her work station at Queen Consolidated was lacking in that aspect.  
  
“Doesn't matter. Do it,” he decided.  
  
Felicity was already bringing her fingers to her keyboard as Oliver moved around the desk to position himself behind her. In the Foundry he often stood like that, watching her work and waiting for the results he needed to spring into action, but at QC he had never done that before. It was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, but Felicity forced herself to ignore it. She had to concentrate on the task at hand. The firewall of SGN was surprisingly solid – Starling's prison system network was a piece of cake compared to this. The thought was too worrisome to really consider it.  
  
But if you _did_ consider it, it made sense, actually. Prisoners cost money, but gossip brought in the cash. You could totally earn a lot with good gossip, because people wanted to know about what other people did, they wanted to talk about it and share it with their friends...  
  
Suddenly, a dark suspicion arose in Felicity. She opened Google. In the next moment she had searched “Oliver Queen engaged” and had found approximately 948.000 results in 0,19 seconds. A small number of them were actually about her and Oliver, but it still were enough, too many. She felt Oliver stiffen behind her like he always did when he got news he didn't like. She could relate to that.  
  
This was the first time in Felicity Smoak's life that the internet was bad news.  
  
“It spread.” Oliver's statement made it sound like a disease...  
  
That was actually quite fitting in Felicity's opinion. She glanced back at him as she said, “It's gone viral. I don't think that can be contained.” Felicity jumped in her seat as Oliver's hand slammed down on her desk behind her. He cursed under his breath. Felicity ignored that. Her eyes were again on the Google results. One in particular was catching her attention as it was claiming to have proof that confirmed SGN's story. She clicked on it, and only another click later she heard Oliver's voice come from the computer speaker.  
  
“ _Kent tried to question you?”_  
  
Again, his hand came down onto her desk. This time he used so much force that her still untouched latte-filled cup nearly toppled over. Felicity swallowed hard as she now heard her own voice.  
  
“ _Yes, he also wanted to know, if we spent any time together outside of work. I just told him that the elevator had arrived and wished him a nice day.”_ God, she was talking _really_ fast. She herself could hardly understand what she was saying. She really should enunciate better. Even though, if she was completely honest, she didn't want to hear what she knew came next. She somehow wished people wouldn't be able to make it out. _“I mean what else should I have said? It would hardly be appropriate to tell him how we spent our nights together.”_ Nope. Perfectly understandable. Damn it!  
  
“ _Hardly. – Have you made any progress in our research?”_  
  
“ _I have. I have very promising data. I narrowed it down to three possible locations for... an engagement. I hope I will be down to just one by tonight.”_  
  
It was worse than the offensive article. It was their own words being turned against them. And somehow it left her lost. She turned around and glanced up at Oliver, who was sporting a serious angry face, and asked, “What now? I mean-”  
  
Her voice brought him into action. “Not here.” He walked around her desk and motioned for her to follow him to his office.  
  
She barely kept from rolling her eyes. “Right, because it was just established how perfectly soundproof this thing is.” But, still, she followed him, walked into the office and past Oliver, who was standing by the door sending her an annoyed glance before he closed the door. He walked toward where she had stopped by his desk. For a moment they stood in silence.  
  
Of course, it was Felicity who ended it. “This is _bad_.” It was stating the obvious, she knew, but that didn't make it any less true. “Did you know that people believe us to be sleeping with each other?” The look that crossed his face told her everything she needed to know. “You did?”  
  
“Isabel might have mentioned something like that...” He trailed off, only to shed the caught look and exchange it with a hard expression. “But that's beside the point. The poi-”  
  
She couldn't believe what she was hearing! She cut him off right there. “Maybe for _you_ it is!” Her index finger poked his chest. “You are the billionaire playboy in this scenario. I'm the secretary getting the rump with a city-view!”  
  
“Felicity...”  
  
“No! Not Felicity! I told you, I worked very hard. To get a scholarship, to be able to go to MIT, to not be a woman who lives off of men like... other... women I know. And now one article turns me into a blonde secretary getting bedded by her boss. For me that is pretty much the _whole_ point!”  
  
Oliver looked at her, compassion on his face, “Point taken.”  
  
Not even that could get a smile out of her. “Maybe I'm overreacting,” she admitted now. “Maybe I'm blowing this thing out of proportion. But in my defense it's the first time I made the news... Well, technically, it's the second time, but it wasn't my idea to do the Mentos-Coke-explosion at the mall's science fair. Back then this trick was all the rage. And we really had no way of knowing that the Coke would spill onto the sound system on stage and-”  
  
“Felicity.”  
  
“My point is,” she stated, getting a look from Oliver, but not missing a beat, “this is freaking me out.”  
  
“It has not escaped my attention.” He took a deep breath before he brought one hand to her shoulder. “We will figure this thing out. We'll spin this somehow.”  
  
“How?” It was an honest question, because she really had no idea. “The article, okay, I can see spinning-potential there. But how do you want to spin the recording?” He just looked at her, and she knew he had no idea either. She swallowed as an idea popped up in her brain. “Maybe we should just break up publicly... Preferably, _after_ I found a new job... If I'll get a new job after all this... With a boss who doesn't think I'm... available.” Her eyes met his. “But that might be a solution. Just break up. We're good at keeping stuff secret. We can just meet up secretly at night.” She pressed her mouth together, closed her eyes while she brought her hand up to her forehead. She should really avoid this phrasing. It was nothing but trouble. And it was kinda embarrassing that it had left her lips _again_.  
  
Oliver kept her from counting backwards, which was a stupid habit of hers and a vocal sign that she was rebooting her thoughts. “We will not do that,” he stated. “You are not another one of Oliver Queen's affairs, and we will not let anybody believe this.”  
  
It was nice of him to say that. It was really, really nice to hear that. A tingle rushed through her and settled in her stomach like it always did when he said really nice things like that. Things that showed how much he cared, what a good friend he was. Things that were so good to hear, but also a reminder that she really, really wanted him to be more than just a friend. She could feel another one of those stupid love-stuck smiles threatening to appear on her face, one of those that always popped up when he said _nice_ things like this. But he already knew that this whole thing was affecting her much more than it was affecting him, and she needed to keep some of her dignity. So she forced herself to say something distracting, “It really freaks me out when you refer to yourself in third person.”  
  
He didn't react to her statement at all. He probably knew that she was just trying to change topics. They were so familiar with each other, they could read the other one nearly perfectly by now. A dim smile showed on Oliver's face. He brought his other hand to her other shoulder, his eyes connected with hers, “I promise you, whatever might happen with this, it won't change a thing between us.”  
  
And there it was, the girly smile she had tried to avoid. Damn it!  
  
“That's good to know. Because I think I can offer the perfect location for an engagement party.”  
  
The female voice startled them both into movement. His hands letting go of Felicity, Oliver shot around to face the door, moving so that Felicity could see Moira Queen standing there.  
  
That right here proved that Oliver wasn't as unaffected by the gossip as he had acted. Normally, nobody managed to sneak up on him – and especially not his mother with her nude high heels. The thought that it was really impolite to just enter this office, when the door was closed and it must have been obvious that they were having a private conversation – those walls were made of freaking glass after all – entered Felicity's mind, but for once she swallowed this remark. There really was no need to make this situation any more uncomfortable.  
  
“Mom,” Oliver said, it was an acknowledgement of her presence as much as it was a greeting. It was Oliver's way of being polite and not at all welcoming at the same time, Felicity knew.  
  
“Oliver.” Now Felicity realized where he had gotten that tactic from. And Moira was the master at it. She now entered the office completely, closing the door behind her and headed to the couple. “And you must be Felicity,” she offered the younger woman her hand, “it's nice to finally meet you.”  
  
Felicity took it. “Actually, we met before, several times.” Inwardly, she was kicking herself for letting that hint slip. So much for not making this any more uncomfortable.  
  
“Yes,“ Moira seemed unfazed and smiled a smile that didn't fully reach her eyes. “But I never knew that you were dating my son. Let alone planning to marry him.”  
  
“I am not,” Felicity hurried to say – and couldn't stop herself from adding more words, “I have absolutely no plans. I mean, I do have some plans. Just not... big life-changing plans. It's more a to-do-list. Like eating salad for lunch and not the double chocolate muffins from the café down the street – no matter how heavenly they are. Because they are. _So_ good.”  
  
Thank God, Oliver chose that moment to interrupt. “Mom, Felicity and I are not engaged.”  
  
“You are not?” There was surprise audible in Moira's voice, but her eyes showed that she had suspected that before. “Then you have another explanation for the recording Thea played during breakfast this morning.”  
  
It took him a moment to answer. “I... have not.”  
  
“Then maybe you should stop denying your engagement and share the happy news. Especially in the light of the board members starting to gather in the conference room.”  
  
Wow, that woman was cold. Felicity couldn't help but swallow hard as Moira's glance now settled on her. “I will gladly host your engagement party at our home. Why don't you come to dinner tonight? We should get to know each other better.” She sent Felicity one last smile before she turned around, “We should go and meet the board, Oliver.”  
  
It was obvious that Oliver was _not_ happy. He stared at the ceiling for a moment before he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he looked at Felicity. “Don't worry. That's not happening!” Then he went to follow his mother.

 

*******

 

The internet hated her. How it had happened – Felicity had no idea. Their relationship had been solid and strong for over a decade and now everything was falling apart.  
  
For one, the spelling error had been corrected. Felicity Smoke had turned into Felicity Smoak and now her life was turning public knowledge. Didn't people have better things to do than talking about Oliver Queen? Because Felicity knew that this wasn't about her, not really. In reality it was all about him: about the billionaire that could get everything money could buy – plus a few things more. It was about the playboy CEO who had been allegedly lost at sea for five years only to suddenly return from the supposed dead. It was about the good-looking man who could have any girl he wanted only to settle for a nobody. To make matters even worse: for a nobody with glasses.  
  
There was a war going on in the Middle East, Iraq was burning, Russia was acting up again – and people were talking about how Oliver Queen could settle for a girl with glasses!  
  
Some people mentioned that she cleaned up good, posting a picture of her at the Annual Auction of the Starling City Cancer Society – thank God, it had been taken before the Dodger had put the bomb collar on her. She was only a tiny figure in the background of the picture, but it had been enough for people to question why she didn't always put in contacts.  
  
Because they hurt her eyes!  
  
She could only tolerate them for a few hours before her eyes started to redden. And, honestly, Felicity liked her glasses. She had carefully picked them, because they fit her. So who cared that they weren't huge and round as somebody had complained. Huge and round might be the hipsta-choice to go, but it did her face no favors! Really, had people nothing better to do than talking about her? Or rather: judging her?!  
  
She shouldn't be reading this, she should be working, she knew, but she couldn't stop herself. She clicked on another link and couldn't keep the unhappy groan from escaping from her lips. How, the hell, had that photo made it online? Now braces were added to the glasses. Felicity stared at the picture showing her awkwardly smiling 13 year old self and was forced to relive a time she had wanted to forget.  
  
“Felicity?”  
  
Again, she was ripped out of her thoughts. Her eyes snapped to the huge man in front of her desk, whose muscles really tested the seams of his suit. “I bet this was Helen Golding's doing. She always hated me. Especially after Craig Riddlemeyer asked me to the winter dance!” She looked back to her screen and the picture showing there. “But this really is good revenge.”  
  
“You need to stop reading that,” John Diggle said.  
  
“I know. But I can't.” She looked at her friend. “I never knew I had masochistic tendencies.”  
  
“You learn something new about yourself every day.” His smile showed his teasing.  
  
But Felicity didn't feel like joking. “Today really was a lesson.”  
  
“Please, turn that off,” Diggle said. “Oliver just called me. He had to go to lunch with the board members. He asked me to get you out of here safely, because the sidewalk outside is full of press."  
  
“This is such a mess.” Felicity shrunk in her seat.  
  
“It is, but we'll figure it out. Come on, let's go. You can continue torturing yourself at the Foundry.”  
  
“Oh joy,” Felicity said joylessly. Just as she reached for her purse, her phone rang. Seeing the caller ID blinking in the display she answered with a “Detective.”  
  
“Miss Smoak, I always believed you to be a smart woman.”  
  
“Detective?”  
  
“Oliver Queen. Really? Do I need to remind you of his track record when it comes to women – which includes both of my daughters? He is not the man a good girl like you should bind herself to.”  
  
Strangely Felicity's first instinct was not to deny but to defend. “He changed. He's not that guy anymore. He's a good man.” Realizing what she was saying and how this must sound to the unsuspecting detective and to Diggle, who was smirking at her, she changed rhetorical gears instantly. “But it doesn't matter anyway, because-”  
  
She didn't get to finish her explanation as Detective Lance cut her off, “You're right, it's none of my business. Just tell me, will you be able to continue working with our mutual friend?”  
  
“Oliver never minded before... Why?”  
  
“Because I need you to contact him. I'm investigating yesterday's events, and all evidence suggests that Laurence Burton didn't act on his own account.”  
  
“The Bomber wasn't really the Bomber?”  
  
The Detective sighed. “He was, but he was forced to built and plant these bombs. We found e-mails that show he was blackmailed into doing it. Somebody captured his wife and his kid.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“I don't know. And I don't know where the Burtons are. But I think I know why the kidnappers did it.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“They want to kill the Arrow.”

 

 

*******

 

 

It would have been a stupid question, and Lance wasn't stupid. So, he did _not_ ask, does the Arrow have any enemies. Because... Duh!  
  
The problem with the Arrow wasn't to name any enemies who might want him dead. The problem was to figure out _which_ of his enemies wanted him dead. Felicity hadn't even bothered to try to come up with an answer to this – yet. They would have to deal with this problem at some point, but Oliver had made it clear, when Diggle had called him to inform him about this change of events, that Burton's kidnapped family – his pregnant wife Melody and his two-year old son Daniel – were their first priority.  
  
Felicity had prioritized accordingly. She had hacked into Laurence Burton's e-mail-account, found the mails Lance had been referring to, had shuddered through watching the heart-breaking video that was attached to it, and with an even stronger resolution she had tried tracing the IP-address this mail had come from – which had, unsurprisingly, been an internet-café. Which meant hacking the surveillance system of “St@rling goes online” – that thing had been founded in 2002, back then names like that had been all the rage –, scanning through the footage of the day and time the mail had been sent, running the possible kidnappers through FBI-facial recognition and coming up with a strong candidate; mobster for fire Lee Brady.  
  
She had performed a miracle when she had come up with an address of a storage unit belonging to one of Brady's aliases. Not that Oliver or John had even mentioned it. They were so used to her getting them answers that the barely acknowledged when she did. In fact, Oliver had already been dressed in green leather by the time she had dug up the address. But she had stopped him from leaving by reminding him that Lance believed this whole thing to be about killing him. So, how did he know it wasn't a trap?  
  
He didn't.  
  
He had gone anyway.  
  
But he had taken Diggle with him as back-up. And now Felicity was sitting alone in the lair while being forced to once again listen to battle sounds through her earpiece without really knowing how the battle went. She had seen Oliver fight, she knew he was really good at it, but she heard gunfire – and no matter how good you were, a bullet could always hit you. After all, one had the day he had revealed his secret identity to her. In his defense, his mother had been the one holding the gun, he hadn't brought his a-game that day, being distracted and emotionally involved. The fact that his mother being the one to shoot him wasn't an all that good defense caused her to leave that train of thought behind, just as another volley of shots rang through the audio connection.  
  
It left Felicity feeling helpless. She always hated that part. She hated being on the outside. Even tough, she knew that she really wouldn't be of any help to him. She would be a liability and a distraction – and she wanted to be neither. Which was why she always stayed quiet while Oliver was fighting and waited for the signal that everything was good and under control.  
  
It came in this moment. “It's done, Felicity. Call Lance and tell him where he can find the Burtons and their kidnappers.”  
  
“Will do.”  
  
“And then get ready. My mother's expecting us for dinner.”  
  
Felicity froze in her actions. “What? But you told me that wasn't happening.”  
  
This statement was greeted by nothing but silence for quite some time until Oliver finally said, “I was talking about the engagement party, that is not happening.”  
  
“You mean, we're going to have dinner with your mother tonight?”  
  
“Yes – and quite possibly Thea will be there, too.”  
  
Felicity needed a moment to take that in. Then she couldn't help but jump out of her seat. “Oh my God!”  
  
The urgency in her voice caused Oliver's to sound tense instantly as well. “What!” he demanded to know.  
  
“Dinner with your mother! I have no idea what to wear.”

 


	3. Poker Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really amazed by the positive responses to this story. Thank you so much to everybody who took the time to leave a comment, and kudos to everybody who pressed the kudos-button! You guys are awesome. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter.

**3.** **Poker Face (Lady Gaga)  
**   
  
He was 29 and this was his first time.  
  
Well, there was a first time for everything, but this was somehow ridiculous.  
  
Because he had never had the official “family meets girlfriend”-dinner at his home. He had been formally introduced to Detective Lance back when he had been dating his daughter Laurel, but Laurel had never had to go though the same thing with his family. Not that his parents hadn't cared who he dated, but...  
  
Well, yeah, his parents hadn't really cared who he dated.  
  
Girls had just come and gone to his home, and Laurel had been the one to come longer and more regularly. Until he had fucked it up by cheating on her with her younger sister Sara. That had been a dick move – but Oliver had been a dick back then.  
  
Nowadays he was trying really hard to be a good guy. An image that was getting serious cracks since he was about to do the first “family meets girlfriend”-dinner with a girl that wasn't really his girlfriend, but his...  
  
Not even in his mind could he define what Felicity was to him.  
  
He had called her his friend; he had called her his partner, but he knew that she was more to him than either of these labels. Not officially. But in his heart she was, even though he would never dare to think about it, let alone act on it. He was closer to Felicity than to every other woman he had ever known – and that didn't even involve physical closeness. He had never even stroked her cheek, and he would never dare to do so, because he knew that entirely harmless gesture would be getting them into too dangerous territory.  
  
Felicity knew the real him, all of him. Oliver had different personas he showed to different people. Felicity had met them all. In the last two years they had built up trust and platonic commitment, a deep friendship that meant everything to him. He would never dare to risk that. He would never dare to risk her. And he would, if he crossed that line. He would never do that. Because it was better to keep things like they were than risk losing her. Never change a running system.  
  
“I still think I should have changed.” Felicity's words caused Oliver to look at her. She was sitting next to him in the backseat of the car Diggle was driving. Her hands were picking invisible fuzz from her coat. “I wore this this morning when your mother invited us. I am sure she changed. Your family seems like the kind of family to have dress codes for dinner.” Her head snapped to him so fast that her ponytail flew behind her, “Do you have a dinner dress code?”  
  
“Not that I'm aware of.”  
  
He fought the urge to reach for her hand that was now nervously moving over her head checking her hair. “Is my hair okay? Should I-”  
  
“Felicity,” he couldn't deal with this right now. “Stop it. You look very pretty.” He ignored the smile that his words caused to appear on her face and continued to assure her, “Everything will be fine.”  
  
“How?” Serious again, she turned her body toward him in her seat, “How can everything be fine? We still have no plan.”  
  
“We have a plan,” Oliver corrected her.  
  
“We don't have a plan, we have a disaster in the making.”  
  
He felt annoyance grow inside him. “If you have a better idea, Felicity, I am happy to hear it,” he challenged. She stared at him, her mouth tightening, and he knew she had nothing, but a bad feeling about what they were doing. She was right about that. It was a bad idea, but it was all they had. “We will make this work.”  
  
“Because our last 'make it work'-moments worked out perfectly.” Felicity had only muttered it, but she had known he would understand it.  
  
“Enough!” he snapped. “Do you think I enjoy adding another lie to the bundle of lies I'm already feeding my family? I really don't need your attitude right now!”  
  
“Do you really think your mother doesn't know the truth?” Of course, Felicity had no intention to put the attitude away. Instead, she looked at him challengingly. “About the engagement, I mean. She all but told you to take one for the family business.”  
  
He glared at her, angrily. His eyes were shooting daggers, but he didn't say one thing to correct her.  
  
Because she wasn't wrong.  
  
“Well, if that's not the sound of wedding bells...” Diggle commented drily.  
  
Hearing this, Oliver's eyes snapped to the front again, meeting his friend's gaze in the rearview mirror. Only after that did Oliver notice that the car was standing in front of Queen mansion. It was time to get this show on the road.  
  
They had just entered the hall and a maid had taken Felicity's coat when Thea walked down the stairs. “Well, well, well, if it isn't the most talked about couple in Starling City.” His sister had never been a person to go with a simple hello.  
  
“Thea,” Oliver greeted her, but there was enough warning in his voice to make it perfectly clear that he wanted her to play nice.  
  
“Ollie,” she matched his greeting, signaling to her brother that, even if she had understood his warning, she wasn't willing to act accordingly. A smile showed on Thea's face as she stopped next to the couple. She eyed them carefully, “So, you're the girl that got my brother to propose...”  
  
Before Felicity could even start rambling Oliver tried to deflect the tension by introduction, “Thea, meet Felicity Smoak. Felicity, my sister Thea.”  
  
“Ollie,” Thea made a dismissive gesture. “We met before. Thinking back to it now I should have known there was something more going on with you two,” her eyes snapped to his brother, “as often as your secretary showed up at the club.”  
  
“Executive Assistant,” Felicity corrected. Seeing the way the Queens looked at her, she defended, “There's a difference between Executive Assistant and secretary... I think...”  
  
“I do not think this distinction is relevant for tonight. As you are not here as Oliver's employee.” Moira, who had appeared in the door leading toward the living room, entered the conversation.  
  
Oliver felt Felicity tense even more next to him as she now greeted his mother, “Mrs. Queen. Thank you for inviting me.” A heartbeat of silence followed and, instantly, Oliver knew what would happen next. “I am sorry, I should have brought flowers. Or wine. I wanted to. But I forgot, because an unscheduled meeting came up. Even though, an Executive Assistant should probably be better with remembering these things, but in my defense-”  
  
Felicity's defenses were never really good. Oliver stopped her right there, “I told Felicity it's okay to not bring anything.”  
  
His mother was all poise and good manners, “It is perfectly fine. And, please, call me Moira.”  
  
Before Felicity could say anything, Thea stopped grinning from the sidelines and instead said, “Felicity, how come we never talked before?”  
  
“Oh, I had a quick chat with Felicity after I was released from prison,” Moira stated. “She paid me a very nice compliment.”  
  
Oliver felt his mouth twitch in annoyance. What was it with his passive aggressive family today? He didn't like how any of this was going, but was kinda lost how to react, how to change the direction of the evening. He was used to taking their attitude, especially and mostly Thea's, while keeping his ugly yelling side tightly bottled up. He chose to go the distraction-route again, “Is dinner ready?”  
  
It was. And it was pretty obvious that his idea to make it quick had just gone out of the window: His mother had even added appetizers to the menu. Luckily, the conversation during that had stuck to QC-business. Moira and Oliver had done most of the talking while Felicity and Thea had concentrated on their blackened ahi tuna (seared rare). Oliver felt like it was save conversational territory for all parties involved.  
  
Of course, Thea forced them to leave that once the tomato soup had been served. She looked to her mother and her brother as she stated, “Do you know that it has been years since we last had a family dinner?”  
  
Moira frowned. “This can't be true.”  
  
“But it is. Last time we all gathered around a table was years ago.”  
  
A smile on her face, Moira stated, “Then we should do that more often from now on. Next time we'll make sure that Roy will have time to be here as well.”  
  
Thea's reaction to that, her honest and open smile before she brought a soup-filled spoon to her lips, showed Oliver glimpses of the little girl he had once known. It caused an unexpected happy jolt to race through him. It was familiar and so unexpected; it was unbelievably nice.  
  
It didn't last long. “Enough business-talk. Time to get to the important stuff,” Thea decided in the next moment and her eyes settled on Felicity. “How did you and Ollie meet?”  
  
“We met at Queen Consolidated. Oliver came down to the IT-department, because he spilled a latte over his laptop.”  
  
That was a good version of the truth, Oliver decided, and added his own, “Felicity helped me save the data I needed.”  
  
“Is that why you bring her a latte every morning?” Thea looked like she enjoyed the reaction that got out of the two people sitting opposite to her and went on to explain, “It was mentioned on twitter using the hashtag Olicity, which I think is the coolest couple's name EVER. Makes you sound like serious business.”  
  
Oliver just stared at her, “Do you think that's funny?”  
  
Thea grinned. “A little.”  
  
“I bet it was Ginger Rogers.” Feeling the eyes of the other three people sitting around the table settle on her, Felicity hurried to add, “Sounds like a fake name, I know, but it isn't. And she's a redhead! She's the head secretary in accounting, and she always tattles in the break room, I bet it was her telling people about the latte.”  
  
“Well, I think it's nice that Oliver brings you a coffee every morning,” Moira chimed in.  
  
“Yes,” Felicity agreed as she turned her head to look at Oliver, who was sitting next to her, “It really is.”  
  
A small smile played around his lips as they looked at each other for a few heartbeats, before they turned back to the soup. The next moments were spent in silence until, for once, Oliver ended it. He turned to his mother, “I thought about contacting our lawyers.”  
  
Moira frowned, “Regarding what?”  
  
“Regarding suing Starling Times.” He saw the surprise his words caused in the females around him – and none was more surprised than Felicity. But he was serious about this, “I am sure their reporter Cliffort Kent recorded the conversation between Felicity and myself. He left his phone at the office. We didn't see it until he came back to get it.”  
  
“And you were having the conversation that was published while the phone lay there?” Moira asked.  
  
“We were. I cannot just let him get away with it.”  
  
“I should inform you that Cliffort Kent contacted Maria Sullivan today.”  
  
Felicity frowned and decided to participate in the conversation, “The head of the PR department? Why?”  
  
“To assure her that he had nothing to do with it. He even offered to turn in his phone to prove he recorded nothing. He plans on suing SGN himself – his name was apparently mentioned in the recording.”  
  
Oliver inhaled deeply. “It... was."  
  
Moira placed her spoon next to her empty plate. “I will talk to our lawyers if you really want me to. But I think we should let it go.”  
  
“Let it go?” Felicity looked truly taken aback. It was stressed by how quickly she was talking, “Why should we do that?”  
  
“Because it works in our favor.” The answer stunned Felicity into silence, and Moira continued, addressing her son, “This may not be what you wanted to happen or how you wanted it to happen, but I talked to Dent after lunch, and he commented that you settling down was the best decision you could make in the current situation.”  
  
The fact that Oliver needed a moment to connect the name to a person proved that he wasn't the best CEO out there, “Dent Bradfort.”  
  
“Yes,” Moira confirmed, “one of the most influential members of our board. If he can be persuaded to trust in your abilities to lead our company, the rest will follow his lead.”  
  
Oliver could feel the annoyance circle through his veins. He couldn't look at his mother right now, he couldn't look at anybody. He stared right past his mother who was sitting at the head of the table, trying to keep all his emotions in like he always did around his family.  
  
Of course, in this situation they had to notice his internal struggle. Moira's voice was soft as she said, “I am sorry, Oliver. I know it were my mistakes which left our company vulnerable. It is not right that I ask you to clean up the problems I have caused. I wish you would not have to. But we both have no choice. You are the only one who can make sure a Queen stays in charge of Queen Consolidated.”  
  
Oliver knew she was right. And he truly believed that she was sorry about it, sorry about everything she had caused them to got through. He needed to believed that, because he loved his mother despite everything she had done. He knew who his mother had been and who she still was, but she was his mother – and he believed that in her own twisted way she had always looked out for him and Thea. She was protecting her children with everything she had.  
  
“I'm sorry, but I don't see the problem.” Thea looked around at the other people. “I mean, Ollie, you proposed, right? You want to marry Felicity. So, isn't it just a bonus that it helps the company?”  
  
Oliver straightened up in his chair, digging his brain for an answer. He had none. At least not a good one that didn't reveal stuff he didn't want revealed to his baby sister, ever.  
  
“Oliver just knows that I'm not happy with all the publicity.” Felicity glanced at him for a second, he registered it out of the corner of his eyes, before she continued her tale which was, strictly speaking, a lie while it was still true, “There were some very... hurtful... things written and posted, and it made me question if Oliver and I should... stay engaged.”  
  
Hearing that, Oliver's eyes settled on Felicity who had just found them a good out of this mess – and who was willing to take the blame. The blame why they couldn't be a couple, the blame why they wouldn't be doing what was best for his family's business. It was smart and it was generous – it was just very much her.  
  
The quiet moment between them was ended by a clanking sound. Thea's spoon had dropped out of her hand and onto her plate. “Of course, you should!” She sounded honestly upset. “And not because of QC or whatever, but because of what you obviously feel for each other.” The warm feeling that had spread inside Oliver was gone instantly. He felt his sister's intense gaze on him before it switched to Felicity, “You cannot let a few nasty comments make you question a decision that felt right to you.”  
  
“I-”  
  
Thea didn't let Felicity even start talking, “It's the secretary bedding the boss thing that's bothering you, right? We can show people that you're more than a secretary. Sorry! Executive Assistant. We can turn you into a somebody in Starling's who's who.” Her eyes beamed now, “Let me host your engagement party at the club.”  
  
“We decided against having one of those,” Felicity objected. And Oliver couldn't help but notice that by objecting to the party she had kinda agreed to staying engaged.  
  
Obviously, Thea took this the same way, “No, you need to have one.”  
  
“I think a party at your club is a wonderful idea,” Moira supported her daughter. “And, Felicity, you and Oliver should come to the gala of the Starling City Historical Society with us next week. I will make sure to save you a seat at the Queen table.”  
  
It was so typically his family. Queens always closed the ranks. No matter how many disagreements were going on on the inside, to the outside they always presented a united front. And somehow that now included Felicity. It left Oliver ambivalent, it was a good thing, while at the same time it really shouldn't be happening. He was feeling like the situation was slipping beyond his grasp, beyond his control. And he was fighting very hard not to allow one very disturbing thought to enter his mind; namely, that he never had any control over what was happening here in the first place.  
  
Thea smirked at Felicity, “You're going to be a Queen. Learn to live with it.”

 

*******

 

Dinner had not gone as planned. Maybe part of the basic problem had been that there hadn't been a detailed plan to begin with. It mad been more a general strategy. But even that had gone out of the window once his mother and Thea had taken over.  
  
And take over he had let them.  
  
Which in hindsight didn't make any sense, but it had still happened, and it had worked him up so much that he hadn't been able to sleep. His body was exhausted, but his mind couldn't be slowed. So he had decided to put his insomnia to some good use and had gone for a past-midnight run. He had really pushed his limits and afterward he had been so drained that he had dropped dead onto his bed. What had followed had more resembled a coma than a good healthy sleep.  
  
The coma had been cut short, because he had a meeting at 8.30. He had been so late that he had only managed to place the latte on Felicity's desk while offering her a “good morning”, before he had rushed into the conference room.  
  
He really didn't know what was more exhausting: the constant meetings and talking of his day job or the fighting of his nightly work. The latter at least gave him a sense of accomplishment.  
  
When he finally entered the Foundry ten hours later, he felt like he had accomplished nothing but digging himself a deeper hole. His steps rattled down the metallic stairs as he hurried down to where he could see Felicity sitting at the desk looking toward the array of screens with her back toward him. The tension the day had built in him made him wish she had found somebody he could go after. He felt like hitting something, and right now he preferred a bad guy to his training dummy.  
  
Felicity turned to him as she heard him approach. Their eyes met briefly before she focused back on what she was doing. That was the only greeting necessary. He liked that, he liked that understanding between them. It was easy and honest and just not pretentious as so many other things in his life were.  
  
And he was glad that it was still there – even after last night.  
  
He pushed that thought away and moved to stand next to her. “What are you doing?”  
  
“The usual. Following the money.” Her eyes snapped to him. “Not that I'm usually after money. I care about other qualities in a man.” Her lips twisted in annoyance in the next moment.  
  
Oliver knew that another explanation that needed further explaining would follow, and he knew where all that came from. He just couldn't deal with it right now. Because it was a reminder that, after last night, some things HAD changed, no matter how much he told himself that this... thing... going on had no consequences at all. He needed to stop her. Motioning toward her screens he asked, “Whose money are you following?”  
  
She took the opportunity to get back on topic and turned to her computer. “The mobsters' who were hired to kill the Arrow, but it all makes absolutely no sense.” He just looked at her, because he knew he didn't need to ask her what made no sense. She would tell him – and right then, she did. “The money trail was so easy to follow it was more a highway than a trail. A highway with road signs and traffic cameras and arrows...” She turned to look at him. “Not your kind of arrows, but the direction giving ones.”  
  
Yeah, he had got that. “So where does this highway lead?”  
  
Her lips curved into the softest smile at him taking up her quip. But she turned away instantly and in the next moment a driver's license was showing on screen, “To Warren Davis. The director of Starling City Asylum. But his ATM card was stolen last week. He had already filed charges before Detective Lance could question him. And I just background-checked Davis. There's nothing suspicious there. And I know what to look for by now. There are no dead relatives, no political ambitions. There's no traumatic incident in his youth, not even any hidden money. These mobsters were paid with his savings.”  
  
“He's a dead-end.”  
  
“Yes and no. _He_ is a dead-end, but I know when and where the money was taken from his account. I was about to get into that when you came.”  
  
He nodded. “I'll leave you to that then.” He looked around. “Where's Digg?”  
  
“Getting Chinese.”  
  
“Again?”  
  
“I love their steamed vegetables,” Felicity defended, adding a muttered, “Especially after I had another muffin for dinner...”  
  
He had just taken a few steps away from her when she spoke up again. “Oliver.” He turned to face her. She had swiveled in her chair and was looking directly at him. “I think I owe you an apology. For last night. It wasn't nice. What I said about your mother. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that in the car. I know how hard it is for you to keep all those things from your family. You have enough stuff to worry about with a guy out there trying to kill you and-”  
  
Strangely, the threat for his life was the only thing not worrying him. There was ALWAYS a guy out there trying to kill him. “Felicity,” his voice was soft. “You don't owe me anything. You have every right to be angry about the situation. I'm sorry to put you through it. I will find a way to solve this without it reflecting badly on you, I promise.”  
  
She looked at him with an expression on her face he couldn't quite place before she said, “We need to talk. About what's going on.”  
  
He stared at her, knowing that she was right, but still not really liking it. Just because he didn't know what to say and he didn't want to let himself really think about it. It took him a moment, before he sighed, “Yes. We should.”  
  
She was about to say something when a beeping sounding from her computers kept her from actually doing so. Immediately, she swiveled back to her desk and was typing away. “There's a break-in happening right now at Starling City Central Bank.” Oliver was already reaching for his suit; Felicity continued talking, “Wow, those bank robbers are not exactly subtle. There was an explosion that triggered the alarm. SCPD are already on their way.” He was heading for the back when she stopped him again, “Oliver.” He turned to face her, “How do we know it isn't another ploy to lure the Arrow out?”  
  
Their eyes met. They glanced at each other in silence, and he knew what she was not saying at the moment. He dared to keep the connection for a few heartbeats longer before he gave in to her silent plea. “There are multiple exit points. Inform Diggle, I could use back-up.”

 

*******

 

Subtle was really something different than what these guys were doing. They had blown open the front door with explosives, a big whole was gaping in the facade of the building. The bodies of the two dead security men were laying in the midst of the ruble and debris which were shattered over the normally posh marble floor that Oliver was now looking down on from his spot on the first floor balcony. He knew what the hall looked like filled with the rich of Starling City. Because Starling City's Central Bank only took the wealthiest costumers. Oliver knew. He was one of them. And he knew that the safe-deposit boxes below this very hall were richly filled by the rich of this city.  
  
Not bothering with the stairs, he just jumped down from the balcony. Heavily, he landed on the wooden counter – African mahogany as the director had told Oliver once – and made his way to where he knew the stairs leading down were. Now he moved more carefully, silently, trying to make use of the element of surprise since he had no idea what was waiting for him down there.  
  
“SCPD has taken position out front,” Diggle informed him, the soldier's voice sounding calmly through the earpiece. “I'm covering the back. But I checked the plans Felicity sent me. If it was me robbing the bank and I obviously liked to blow things up, I'd try to escape through the sewer running right underneath the east end of the building.”  
  
“Wow. One would think banks would try to avoid an obvious safety issue like that.” Felicity had only muttered the previous statement but spoke up now, “The bomb must have taken out all electric circuits. All cameras inside the building are offline. I...” She hesitated and he heard unhappiness in her voice, “I have nothing.”  
  
Oliver knew she hated not having anything to contribute, but he honestly didn't need her to tell him where the robbers were. They were telling him themselves. Staying true to not so subtle form, the were loudly shouting commandos at each other. They were obviously still in the room with the safety-deposit boxes.  
  
He heard one male voice ordering to, “Take the jewels but leave the documents. We don't need some old fart's life insurance.”  
  
That caused another men to object, “Just take it all! We have no time to check shit!”  
  
Another male added, “One minute thirty seconds.”  
  
And finally a fourth slightly more frantic voice urged to, “Hurry, hurry, hurry!”  
  
At least four men. That was doable. Oliver headed around the corner, his bow at the ready, his knees slightly bent, his steps inaudible. Even though, it wouldn't really matter if he weren't as light-footed; the ruckus of the robbers would easily down out footsteps.  
  
Oliver had expected to be faced with at least one man watching the hall leading to the safe-deposit boxes, but there was nobody waiting for him. With quick steps he walked to the room his targets were in and past it. He used the instant he had to look into the room. He registered the mess inside, created by blown open boxes and the insides spilled all over the floor, plus five men spread out all across the room. He also took the opportunity to take out the man who was dividing his attention between the others filling up plastic bags and the watch on his wrist. He, after all, was the one with his gun at the ready.  
  
Oliver had reached the other side and stood with his back pressed flat against the wall next to the door when he heard the yell of pain caused by an arrow shot through a thigh and gasps that indicated surprise as well as fear.  
  
“Oliver, SCPD is about to enter the building,” Felicity said.  
  
That was his cue. He pushed himself off the wall and entered the adjoining room. He was greeted by a machine gun spitting bullets. Oliver had seen the weapons hanging around the men's shoulders when he had scanned the room, and he had expected at least one robber to not be distracted by his accomplice's pain. But Oliver was following one surprisingly simple and effective rule: don't give the shooter time to aim. It minimized the danger of being actually hit immensely. It was a trick that worked in nine out of ten cases, and it did work right now.  
  
In seconds, he was behind a second robber, who took a volley of shots that had been meant for Oliver in his chest. Using the dead men as a shield – which wasn't very nice, but very effective – Oliver pushed forward to the still shooting robber, who probably hoped to hit Oliver with a through-and-through – which also wasn't very nice and luckily until now completely ineffective. Oliver let the body drop as he was near enough to reach for the shooter. He kicked the other man's weapon away before he reached for the guy's head and slammed it into the wall behind him quickly once, twice and a third time. As the men sank to the floor, unconscious, Oliver was readying his bow again and facing the two robbers he knew were still left – and was greeted by four raised hands and a frantic, “Don't shoot!”  
  
He didn't. Instead, he brought his fist down twice with just the right amount of force to knock them out.  
  
“Oliver, SCPD is inside the building.”  
  
Thinking that he really didn't want to be forced to take the sewer-escape-route, Oliver took one last glance around the room – seeing one robber dead, one immobilized by wound, three unconscious – before he hurried out of there and back to the stairs. He was lucky the policemen were taking a very cautious approach, which in this case meant: slow. He had managed to head up the stairs and to hook an arrow in the high ceiling by the time they noticed him. He was speeding upwards, pulled by a rope, before they could react. He reached the first floor balcony and started running immediately. He had shot another rope-arrow and was out of a window.  
  
His heart was beating heavily in his chest when his feet touched the ground again. He took a moment to turn around and glance back at the building, but saw nobody at the window he had just flown out of. Time to disappear. But before he could do so he was routed to the spot by movement he had registered out of the corner of his eyes. Somebody had been on top of the building next to the bank.  
  
“Oliver,” Diggle's voice stopped his observing, “what are you waiting for? Get moving. Police is coming your way.”  
  
He didn't need to be told twice. “On my way.”

 


	4. C'est beau la bourgeoisie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot thank you enough for all your kind comments. I really appreciate that so many of you took the time to leave me a message. That's truly amazing to me. It makes me want to write more (not this story, which is complete already, but another one) and it makes me want to hug each and every one of you. Feel hugged! ;-) I hope this next chapter lives up to your expectations. Enjoy!

**4.** **C'est beau la bourgeoisie (Discobitch)  
**   
Being engaged to Oliver Queen was pretty mediocre. At least it was in Felicity's experience.  
  
Okay, there were some upsides. Like the look on Meadow Martinez' face when she had entered the elevator yesterday only to see Felicity and Oliver already in there. _That_ had been awesome! It was payback at long last for back when Meadow had slept with Peter Truitt, the cutest guy in the IT-department – and not just cute by nerdy standards, but _really_ cute. Meadow had slept with him even though she had known that Felicity was seriously into Peter and that she had been on a date with him that had been great despite the fact that Felicity had managed to make a quip about vegans in her very first rant of the evening only for Peter to, of course, be a vegan. Yes, that had happened and the date had still been great. At least for Felicity it had been.  
  
Felicity had believed to have found a friend in Meadow when she had first started working at QC, but this stunt of hers had proven how badly Felicity had let herself be fooled. Felicity was better off without Meadow and her ridiculously long lashes she fluttered at guys that should be _off_ limits. She had given up on making friends at QC after that. Well, apart from Oliver, who... Well, yeah, he was a friend. That was an easy label she could live with putting on that whole complicated... thing... that was going on with them.  
  
Another good thing about being acting fiancée of Oliver Queen was his sister. Thea had dropped by the office to take Felicity to lunch two days after that dreadful dinner. Felicity had been hesitant, because she had been sure that Thea just wanted to ask her a bunch of questions Felicity had no real answer to. And that had actually happened – which proved that Felicity wasn't as bad with judging people's characters as the debacle with Meadow Martinez might suggest.  
  
But somehow the girls had started talking after Thea had fired off the most pressing questions. They had shared a good conversation not just about her engagement, but about... stuff. Just regular things you talked about with people when you started to get to know them and that had been nice. It had made Felicity realize how much her social life was lacking in the last years. It had made Felicity realize that she needed to change that.  
  
Thea had also taken Felicity shopping. That had been an experience, to say the least. Felicity now knew that you had to take a picture before you bought an outfit to make sure it photographed well. Not that Felicity wanted possible paparazzi encounters to rule the shopping decisions... Not that Felicity wanted any paparazzi encounters! But standing in the changing area of the store, taking pictures of each other in beautiful gowns – which were ridiculously priced, by the way – had been a surprisingly fun and very girly thing to do. It had been senseless and entirely out of character for Felicity, but she had enjoyed the hell out of it. Thea had bought a dress for the gala and tried to get Felicity to do the same. There had been one gown that Felicity had really loved. It was a dark green – a fact that had been a special source of amusement for Felicity – with a tight and ridiculously low cleavaged top while the soft cloth spilled flowingly from the waist down. But it was far too out there for her to wear outside of a changing cubicle, and it was far too expensive. Thea had offered to buy it for her, but Felicity had declined. There was no way she would let a Queen buy her clothes. She could pay for her own stuff. … Even though, she technically paid with money the Queens had given her, but that was different; she had earned that money.  
  
Sadly, these few upsides came with a lot more downsides. In the nine days since SGN had wrongly informed everybody who did or did not want to know that she was the secretary bagging the boss, she had been faced with more nasty glances than she had been during her three years of high school. Meadow's one shocked face didn't make up for that.  
  
After the first three days she had also finally taken Thea's advice and stopped googling herself. Because...  
  
The internet was _mean_.  
  
And Google collected all this meanness and brought it to her computer screen where it ended up giving her fits of insecurity she had never experienced before. Felicity Smoak was many things, but unsure of herself wasn't one of them. She knew pretty well who she was. There was no need for anybody else to tell her.  
  
She had stopped the senseless, hurtful internet researches and had instead returned to her normal computer-routine of data collecting, which involved calculating statistics for Queen Consolidated as well as hacking for the Arrow and finding cute shoes on sale for herself.  
  
In fact, after the three days she had given herself to freak over this, things had just returned to normal – at least, to what normal was for her. She was back at her old routine. Even though, Oliver and she had agreed that they needed to talk about their situation, they never had. At least not yet.  
  
When it would happen? Preferably never!  
  
Felicity had lost any nerve she may have had back in the Foundry when she had brought it up that certain evening. By now she knew that she wouldn't start this conversation, if it could be helped. Because it was easier to just act as if nothing had changed – because, really, nothing had changed between them. The world may think that it had, but the world had it all wrong.  
  
So far, denial was working perfectly for her.  
  
She now glanced up as she heard the bell of the elevator announce its arrival. She knew Oliver would show up any moment now and right then she saw him head toward her desk, the usual latte in hand. He had brought it as a peace offering that first time, but now he bought her one every morning. The gesture meant lot to her, because it was thoughtful. Because every morning when he stopped by the coffee shop, he took time out of his day to do something nice for her. It was small thing, but small things mattered.  
  
And she was saying that even though Oliver had done some pretty big things for her, like, for example, save her life.  
  
“Good morning,” she greeted him and took the offered coffee. “Thank you.”  
  
A small smile played round the corners of his lips. “Good morning.” Like he always did, he turned serious quickly. “Did anything important come up I should know?”  
  
“Nope,” she looked up at him from her sitting position, “nothing to report. The only one who called was your mother, at 8 a.m. I might add, to remind me to remind you of the historical gala tonight.”  
  
Hearing this, he turned on his heel, “Noted.”  
  
“I want to add that I thought about calling in sick today. With a sickness that got progressively worse and would have forced me to stay at home tonight to watch Game of Thrones and treat myself to a bucket of mint choc chip, but my sense of responsibility stopped me."  
  
He was still walking. “I really appreciate that!” He had already entered his office when he walked back to the door and poked his head around the glass wall. “By the way, did you hear that SGN was hacked?”  
  
“No.” Felicity met his gaze. “Really?”  
  
“Yeah,” Oliver's voice was even, “apparently, if you go to their side right now, all you see is the words, 'the rest is silence'.”  
  
“Great quote,” Felicity complimented.  
  
Oliver waited for a moment, obviously expecting her to say more. When she didn't, he nodded. “That's Shakespeare, if I was informed correctly. Hamlet.”  
  
“Great play.”  
  
“So I've heard.” He looked at her for another long moment, before he brought his hand down against the glass, slapping it. “Great talk.” With that he walked into his office, and Felicity placed her attention back to her computer screens. So, yeah, everything was just as it had always been...

 

*******

 

If you planned on going to a gala with paparazzi present, you should have salad for dinner. At least that was what Felicity thought. She wanted to wear her red dress – she hadn't been killed in it when she had gone into that underground casino to get caught counting cards. It had become her lucky dress after that, and she felt like she needed some luck with this outing tonight.  
  
Sadly, said dress was not only lucky but also very tight, which equaled up to no muffin for Felicity. You didn't need to be as good in maths as Felicity to come up with _that_ equation.  
  
She was sitting in the sun in front of the QC-skyscraper, enjoying her lunch break (despite the salad), when her phone rang. She fished it out of her pocket and checked the caller-ID. “Detective.”  
  
“Miss Smoak, still planning to marry Oliver Queen?”  
  
“That's the last I heard.”  
  
He sighed. “I would appreciate it, if we could meet. We need to talk.”  
  
“Detective, it's really nice of you to feel that protective, but that's really not necessary. I-”  
  
“I don't want to talk about your dumb-ass engagement! I want to talk about something we shouldn't discuss on the phone.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“I'm in the little corner café near your office, do you know it?”  
  
Feeling sad suddenly, Felicity looked at her salad. “I do. I'll be right there.”

 

 

*******

 

It was too cliché, but Felicity couldn't keep that comment from slipping, “We could have met across the street, they have donuts.” She sat down in the huge purple seat and placed her purse next to her, while ignoring the counter and the delightful treats presented there.  
  
Detective Quentin Lance, who had a cream cheese bagel in his hands, sent her an unamused look. “Very funny.” He took a huge bite, let the rest drop back onto his plate and chewed carefully, while he wiped his hands. Only when most crumbs were swiped away did he reach for the folder that was resting next to him and held it out to Felicity.  
  
It contained papers filled with calculations and chemical diagrams that – it pained Felicity to admit it – didn't seem familiar to her. She frowned; she had no idea what this was supposed to be or what she was supposed to do with this. She brought her eyes back to the Detective.  
  
He had by now swallowed. “Does this mean anything to you?”  
  
Felicity couldn't remember the last time she had to answer this question with a no, and she hated that he had to do so now. “No, what's this?”  
  
“This is the chemical composition of Vertigo.” Lance leaned forward in his seat, his forearms resting on his knees. He was talking in a lower volume, the chatter of the café almost drowning him out. “This was stolen out of a safe-deposit box when Central Bank was robbed.”  
  
“But the robbers were caught.”  
  
“That's what we thought, too. Until the bank asked their customers to check the contents of their boxes and compare the things missing to the secured pickings of the robbers. The formula is the only thing that's missing. We got a copy from the chemist who had it in his box.”  
  
“He just had this?”  
  
“Believe me, he is questioned as we speak.” Lance looked honestly pissed. It was his normal look, now that Felicity thought about it. It really wasn't all that becoming on him. Could that man even smile? “The real question is, who stole it?”  
  
“The Count is dead.” Felicity knew, she had been there – and all that had happened that night was really hard to forget. Sometimes she relived it in her dreams.  
  
“I know. But that doesn't answer my question. Who stole it?” He leaned in even closer. “Were you working with our mutual friend the night of the robbery?” She had been, but she hadn't been a real help. She dimly nodded, and Lance already had the next question, “Is it possible that there was another person, a sixth man, who might have been able to steel the formula?”  
  
Felicity felt her pulse quicken. Yes, it was possible. In fact, Oliver had been sure that he had seen somebody on the roof next to bank. Felicity had tried to confirm this, but there had been no helpful footage from traffic or security cameras. The ones which had been active were not pointing in the right direction, and the ones that were had been offline. It had seemed like a strange coincidence to all of them, but – as Diggle had very rightfully said – it did fit in with the robbers taking down surveillance technology.  
  
Basically, they had nothing to go on other than Oliver's instinct, which admittedly was mostly deadly on point.  
  
This dead-end combined with the dead-end her search for whoever had made Burton detonate those bombs had run into had been a serious bummer. Not that “bummer” fit the reaction Oliver had to all of this adequately. But no word could, really. So she would just call it a bummer, it took the heaviness out of a heavy situation.  
  
Not that she felt like sharing any of this with Detective Lance. She decided to keep her answer vague, “There might have been. But we have nothing concrete.”  
  
“Miss Smoak, I don't think I have to tell you what damage Vertigo may cause.” No, he really didn't. She had witnessed it twi-... okay, one and a half times. Lance was talking hauntingly now, “We need to keep that stuff off the streets. I need you and our friend to support me with this.”  
  
There was no doubt about it. “He will. He will be all over that.” She slightly raised the folder. “Can I keep this?” Just because she couldn't made any sense of these diagrams didn't mean that nobody else could.  
  
But Lance snapped the folder from her. “Sorry, my staff saw me leave with this. I cannot just let this get into the wrong hands.” Great, another hack into the SCPD-system then. Lance looked sternly at her. “And just so you know, Kelton updated our system.”  
  
Yeah, right.

 

*******

 

Oliver Queen did not approve this high. And by the looks of it as he stood stiffly in the brightly lit square of the Foundry, neither did John Diggle.  
  
Both men had experienced first hand what Vertigo could do, and from second hand experience Felicity knew that it hadn't looked good. Not that Oliver hadn't looked good when he had stood in front of her that day at QC. Because he had. Even after nearly dying of a crazy addictive drug he had been able to make her stutter and say inappropriate things. In her defense, even people who were not as handsome as Oliver Queen could do that to her.  
  
But that was all besides the point. The point was that both men didn't take the news why Lance had asked her to meet with him well.  
  
“The Vertigo recipe is out there?”  
  
“I don't know, if it's the same as attempting to bake my grandmother's famous blueberry pancake, but...” She frowned, “Even though, I never managed to get them to taste like nana's did...” Seeing the looks on the men's faces, she stopped herself. They were not in the mood for this. “Basically, yeah. Somebody stole the Vertigo formula.”  
  
“This is proof, Oliver,” Diggle crossed his arms over his chest as he sat down on Felicity's desk. “You were right. Somebody else was there.”  
  
“Being right doesn't help me one bit,” Oliver's voice was hard. Felicity knew that situations like these were hard on him. Situations, when he felt like he had to do something, but didn't know what to do. Those were the moments when he let his frustrations out on the wrong people. Just like he was doing right now. “We have no idea who was there. Or where he went. I should have trusted my instincts and gone after him.”  
  
“Oliver, the police was on their way,” Diggle never seemed utterly fazed by Oliver's moodiness. “You did the right thing when you got out of there. We will get a lead on whoever has the formula.”  
  
“When, Diggle?” Oliver wanted to know. “When the first person dies? Is that the lead we will have to wait for? I am tired of waiting!” He reached for the nearest table, which was the heart of their improvised medical-area, and flipped it over.  
  
Felicity flinched. She had not expected such a strong reaction. She knew that his fuse had been burning with the lack of answers to the many questions that his Arrow-stints had brought up lately. She had known that and she had seen Oliver explode quite a few times in the past – at her, at Diggle, at the wall –, but back then his fuse had always seemed longer. The eruptions had been the result of intense weeks; they had built up over time when the pressure was high and danger was imminent. Or when his family had been in danger. In those situations his fuse was practically non-existent.  
  
Sally Fergusen, Felicity's second roommate at MIT, who had studied psychology, had told her that it was a good thing to let your anger out. She always had made Felicity punch a pillow – with an, as she knew now, absolutely _awful_ technique. Felicity had hit that thing quite hard when Scott Becker, her boyfriend of two years, had broken up with her. That had also been the night Felicity had learned that a girls' night with Tequila was more her thing to let off some steam.  
  
But for Oliver the violent approached worked. Felicity had taken some time to contemplate, what Sally would say to this, if that was really what she had been talking about. But, ultimately, Felicity had decided that it was Oliver's way to keep from going crazy. He had experienced enough horrible things to drive everybody over the edge, and the fact that he was still sane – as sane as you could be with a secret identity that involved dressing up in leather – was a miracle.  
  
In theory, Felicity was all for him venting his anger, but this was unexpected and sudden.  
  
Diggle got up from the desk again and was about to confront Oliver in that reasonable, insightful and in the current situation absolutely fearless way he had, when the other man, who still had his back to them, bent down and placed the tipped over table – which had luckily been empty – upright again.  
  
“I'm sorry,” Oliver said quietly without looking at them. “It was a bad week.” Was it? Really? Why? Felicity felt like asking all of these questions, but Oliver talked before she could, “I'll head out. Patrolling.”  
  
“No, you won't.” Felicity's words stopped him after the first step. “The only suit you'll be wearing tonight is a tux. We're going to a gala.”  
  
“Seriously?” Diggle looked at her. “You want to go to a gala with him when he's like this?!”  
  
No. She didn't want to, but, “I promised his mother we'd be there _on_ time. And since we had a very rocky start that might have involved me accidentally laughing about her time in prison I feel like I should do this to get on her good side.” She now looked at Oliver, who still stood there looking like he was ready to leave, “She called me _three_ times today... Honestly, I find that a little offensive, I got the message after our first talk – at eight this morning. Around four in the afternoon I was fearing she'd send me a sung telegram.” She contemplated that for a second. “Which would have been awesome, but sadly that's not Moira's style.” She looked at John Diggle, who was looking at her with amusement shining in his eyes. “I call her Moira now.”  
  
“First name basis with the fake in-laws,” Diggle smirked. “Well done.”  
  
“Stop,” Oliver's word was harsh, but thankfully his tone wasn't. He looked seriously unhappy. “Okay, we'll go to this damn gala.”  
  
Felicity reached for her purse. “Thank God, I prepared in case I wouldn't have time to go home. I need to get to my car and get my lucky dress.”  
  
“No, you don't.” Oliver's unexpected objection caused her to stop mid-movement. She turned to look at him and saw him walk toward the table where he always prepared his arrows. A box was lying there, Felicity had registered it before, but not wasted a second thought on it as she had hurried to share the news about Vertigo once they had been in a environment where it was safe to talk about such things. The box in his hands, Oliver now crossed the distance that had separated them all this time. He handed it to her, saying, “For you. For tonight.”  
  
Surprised, Felicity placed the box on her own desk and opened it. She swallowed heavily as she saw what was resting inside: the dark-green designer dress she had loved so much at the store. Strangely hesitant, she reached for it, but stopped herself. She looked at Oliver, “You didn't need to...”  
  
“I know. But I wanted to.” He motioned toward the back. “You should change, we have to go, if we're to keep the promise you made my mother.”  
  
All of that left Felicity unusually uncomfortable. She tried to catch his eyes, but he turned around in that moment. So she said to his back, “Thank you.”

 

He send her a quick glance and a nod. It was time to go change.

 

*******

 

When exactly her life had turned into a cheesy chick-flick, Felicity couldn't say, but that didn't change the fact that it had obviously happened. There wasn't another explanation for what was going on right now, for why she was standing on perfectly shined black marble with a glass of the most expensive champagne in hand, wearing a gorgeous dress with a plunging cleavage that was really daring for her, accompanied by her friend, who she more or less secretly wished would be more than a friend and who people around her believed to be her fiancé, trying to say as little as possible to not embarrass herself or him while he introduced her to the high society.  
  
That last sentence was as ridiculous and confusing as the whole situation was.  
  
She wished she was at home, watching Game of Thrones and eating ice-cream. She wished she would have made Oliver take her home instead of fixing her hair and make-up in the tiny bathroom in the Foundry. There was only so much you could do with bad lighting. If she had been at home, maybe she wouldn't have dropped one of her contact lenses into the sink. She had cussed so loudly that Oliver had come looking what was up and when she had ranted about the light and the tiny mirror, he had simply held out her glasses and told her to “wear those.”  
  
Which probably meant the “ugly duckling turning into a beautiful swan by taking off her glasses”-part of her chick-flick was still in the making.  
  
Not that she was a beautiful swan. Or an ugly duckling for that matter. But the internet had really hated on her glasses. At least her glasses guaranteed that she could see the canapes clearly and avoid the fishy ones. She reached for another one. The salad she had eaten around noon was nothing but a distant memory by now. She had heard something about dinner; when would that be happening? The elderly woman who stood next to the man Oliver was talking to now addressed her, “Dear, did Moira talk to you about joining our Starling City Women's Foundation?”  
  
Felicity had just taken another sip of champagne and swallowed quickly. _Keep your answer short_ , she chanted to herself. “No, she didn't.”  
  
“You should join us,” the white-haired woman with the perfectly placed curls said. “We are always happy to welcome young and promising members.”  
  
The question what exactly the Starling City Women's Foundation did danced on the tip of Felicity's tongue, because it really sounded like a place for the privileged to meet and share their worries for the less fortunate before turning to cocktails and cake and tattling about whose husband had been living it up with the secreta- She stopped the thought right there and, instead, repeated her mantra. _Keep it short._ “That sounds lovely."  
  
“We would love to have you, dear.” The other woman claimed. She had been introduced, but for the life of her Felicity couldn't remember her name. “As the wife of a Queen you'll have some responsibility for this city. Moira had to leave our Foundation after what happened last year, of course. But we'll be happy to have another Queen woman.”  
  
“What about Thea?” The question left Felicity's lips before she could stop herself. At least it fit to her resolution to keep it short.  
  
The woman's nose twisted as if she had smelled something foul. “Thea is not the right fit for us.”  
  
“Sweetheart,” the husband of the older woman cut in. “I saw Harold. We have to go and congratulate him on this wonderful event.”  
  
“Yes, of course,” his sweetheart agreed. She turned to Felicity. “It was very nice to meet you. Think about the Foundation. You are always welcome.”  
  
“Yes,” Felicity forced a smile. “It was very nice to meet you, too.”  
  
Oliver shook hands with the other man and added another CEO-smile. Felicity could see the next people, who wanted to talk to Oliver and get a close look at her, approaching. She strongly suspected that there was some kind of routine to it, people were circling the room pretty perfectly. Maybe that was why it was called making the rounds. Huh... Yeah, probably. Everybody was making sure to talk to everybody who was anybody – which sadly meant that everybody wanted to talk to Oliver Queen.  
  
“Dance with me.” Oliver's voice cut through her thoughts, and she saw him hold his hand out to her. In a very unladylike move, she took a huge swing of her champagne. She placed the empty glass onto the tray of a passing waiter and her hand into Oliver's. He led her to the dance floor, and she was thankful for the break in small-talk – until she realized how close Oliver's body was to hers. Never had he held her so close when it hadn't been a life-or-death-situation. Okay, there had been a few hugs, but this felt different, less platonic and more... Just different. Nice, but still different. It somehow felt too close.  
  
“You're very quiet tonight,” Oliver stated as they moved to the slow music. “It's not like you to be so monosyllabic.”  
  
“I'm not myself tonight. I'm your fiancée and about to become a member of the Starling City Women's Foundation.” That had come out snappier than she had intended. She felt him stiffen and was sorry instantly. She hurried to add, “I'm just trying not to embarrass you, which is why today I came with a mantra. Before I say anything I tell myself to keep it short. It's really working. I should incorporate it in my everyday life. Might be a success.”  
  
He chuckled. “I doubt it.”  
  
She didn't react to that, because she didn't always have to comment on everything, even though he seemed to think so. Even though she would have had a great comeback.  
  
They spent the rest of the song in silence – well, not complete silence since the music was playing, but neither of them said anything as they continued dancing. It was a comfortable silence. It didn't feel like a gap in conversation. They could be perfectly quiet with each other. It was nice. Felicity couldn't help but think that it even was more than nice. She could really get used to that. Which was why she was glad and disappointed at the same time when the song ended and Oliver let go of her, indicating their time dancing was up.  
  
They had just walked off the dance floor when the next person was heading toward them already. As Oliver engaged the man in conversation, Felicity locked eyes with Thea whose face showed an expression of suffering that most likely made her unfit for the Starling City Woman's Foundation. Felicity was inwardly laughing when suddenly Oliver's conversational partner addressed her. “Miss Smoak, how do you enjoy the gala so far?”  
  
Keep it short. “Very much, thank you.” Okay, was there a point when short turned into impolite? Because if there was, she had reached it now. With that thought her mantra, which had helped her through five conversations, had run its cause. “I didn't know Starling City had a historical society, let alone that historians knew how to party. But I guess if somebody can party like there's no tomorrow, it's a historian...”  
  
The man looked at her strangely. She felt uneasiness rise inside her and was about to go into a long apologetic rant when the old man with the round glasses and the tweet suit threw his head back and laughed out loud. His eyes were shining when he placed them on Felicity again. “Young lady, you are a hoot.”  
  
She glanced at Oliver and found the dim smile on his face she had come to know so well. He actually winked at her. “I told you the mantra wasn't working long term.”

 


	5. I don't know what to do with myself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to **BellaPaige88** and **Kyral** for taking the time to leave a comment. You guys are great!
> 
> I know this story is progressing very slowly, but I warned you that I'd take my time. Please be patient with me, because I have plan and I need this build-up. This chapter will give you an idea where Oliver is at right now... I hope. And there needs to be more John Diggle, because he's the man! Enjoy!

**5\. I don't know what to do with myself (The White Stripes)  
  
** It wasn't like he wished for an increase in drug deaths, but he needed some kind of lead to follow to get his hands on the damn Vertigo recipe. It was still out there somewhere in possession of the wrong person. Oliver was sure of that, because anybody who wanted to know the formula of the most dangerous and addictive drug to ever hit the streets had to be the wrong person.  
  
Oliver being the exception, of course. He needed to get his hands on it so that a possible countermeasure could be cooked up.  
  
Felicity had hacked into SCPD servers and gotten a copy of the scan stored there before she had deleted it. But that didn't change the fact that the danger of it was still out there and he couldn't do anything about it.  
  
Not even the fact that things had calmed down at QC could improve his mood. The stock price had shot up, the board members were more than happy, the prognosis for the upcoming corporate year was excellent – and all because Oliver had faked himself a fiancée.  
  
That, in fact, managed to drag his mood down even further. And he didn't even have anybody to hit and distract himself from this and all the other things that were connected with said fake fiancée. But he didn't allow himself to dwell on the latter. Never.  
  
Instead, he had upped his training routine. A lot. He had much energy to vent. His muscles were aching gloriously as he ducked in this moment, avoiding the jab Diggle had just thrown at him. Oliver knew from experience that you didn't want to be hit by that. Staying in his ducked position, Oliver stretched out his leg while rotating about his own aches, trying to knock his friend off his feet. But Diggle anticipated this, jumped up and came down with his fist aiming at Oliver, who rolled around and was behind his friend in the next moment, grabbing him and throwing him onto the mat in one swift movement.  
  
All air was knocked out of Diggle and he needed a moment until he rolled himself onto his back. “Okay, good tackle. Were you a wrestler in high-school?”  
  
Oliver held his hand out to his friend. “No. I learned that later.”  
  
Diggle took the offered hand and was standing next to the other man in the next moment. “I should have known.” He brought his hand down onto his friend's back. “That's enough workout for today, man.”  
  
He was right, Oliver knew. His body told him to call it a night and hit the shower, but Oliver simply wasn't good with having nothing to do.  
  
Suddenly, Felicity's voice sounded from where she sat at her desk, “Detective Lance called.”  
  
Oliver moved toward her, sweat glistering on his naked chest. “What did he want?”  
  
“He requested a meeting with the Arrow. He said: the usual place at nine.” Knowing that Oliver lost track of time while training, she added, “that's in 30 minutes.”  
  
Thank God! It was time to suit up.

 

*******

 

“Detective.” His deep, electronically changed voice startled Quentin Lance, who had been looking into the opposite direction toward the Starling City skyline.  
  
The wind was shooting over the roof the two man were meeting on. Quite a few steps were separating them as they stood there facing each other, two unlikely allies who had learned to trust each other.  
  
“Damn it! Do you always have to sneak up on people?” Lance snapped now.  
  
“It was you who requested this meeting, Detective.”  
  
The other man sighed. “I did. I was hoping you'd have some news you just hadn't felt like sharing yet.”  
  
Oliver felt annoyance rise inside him. He had the feeling this meeting wouldn't go as planned. “News on Vertigo, you mean.”  
  
“I do. All our tries to figure out who took it out of the safe-deposit box came up empty.”  
  
Oliver hated to admit that, but they had faced the same problems. His growing anger was audible even in his distorted voice, “If I had any information, I would have given it to you.” He was about to say more, when suddenly Lance's phone rang.  
  
The Detective answered, leaving Oliver no room to snap at him – which was actually a good thing. The Arrow had never lost his cool around Lance, and it was better to keep it that way. The detective turned his back to the other man and walked away. Oliver looked toward where the skyscrapers with the illuminated windows contrasted against the sky and contemplated to just use the moment the Detective was distracted to disappear. Meetings like this were supposed to go according to the Arrow's terms, not the other way round. Everything was messed up lately. Only the possibility that the call Lance was ending right now might present him with something to do kept Oliver on the roof.  
  
Lance still had his phone in his hand when he turned back to the Arrow, looking honestly disturbed. “I have to go.”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“A mass suicide.” 

*******

 

Oliver throwing his bow onto the table normally was a clear sign to his partners to leave him alone. But nothing was normal lately, so why was he even surprised when Diggle didn't steer clear of him, but instead walked right up to him. “Your talk with Lance didn't go well?”  
  
“It didn't go ANYWHERE!” Oliver's eyes were hard as he stared at his friend. “He wanted to know, if I had news. He's as much in a dead-end as we are. And then he got a call. Apparently, there was a mass suicide.”  
  
“There was,” Felicity nodded and motioned toward her screens where Bethany Snow, Starling City's most famous anchorwoman, was visible while the moving letters at the bottom of the screen were reporting ten people dead. A mass suicide – that was a bad thing, but it wasn't something he could do anything about. There was nobody to blame for this, nobody to go after.  
  
Oliver knew that he wasn't good with anger management. He knew he didn't have a healthy way to vent his feelings and that it was way too easy to put him in a bad mood. He knew that when things didn't go his way instantly, he was quick to snap at the wrong people. He knew all this, but that didn't change the fact that he felt like snapping at somebody, because things weren't going his way. Not one minute after he had entered the lair, he grabbed his bow again.  
  
“Where are you going?” Diggle asked.  
  
“I'll check out that mass suicide. That's fishy.”  
  
“No, you don't.” Diggle dared to step in Oliver's way with his arms crossed over his chest. “You're heading to the shower and then we'll grab a bite to eat.” He didn't even let his friend start objecting. “When was the last time you ate? We should all call it a night. It's been a tense few weeks. It's Saturday, we all deserve an evening off.”  
  
“Actually...” Felicity got up from her seat. “Thea asked, if I wanted to come to the club tonight. If we called it quits for today, I'd take her up on that. It's been forever since I went out dancing.” Her eyes snapped to at Oliver. “I mean apart from gala-dancing, which is more like swaying while standing really close.” She visibly flinched, “Not _too_ close, obviously. I really didn't mind us getting close.” She closed her eyes, thinking, before she decided, “I cannot save this. Which is why I'll stop talking in 3... 2...1.”  
  
Felicity was the only woman who came with her own countdown.  
  
It caused Oliver's heart to beat a little faster without his permission. Acting unfazed, he sent her a quick glance. “You should go out tonight. Have fun with Thea.”  
  
“And you'll grab burger with me.” Diggle still stared at Oliver. “Get a shower.”

 

*******

 

Oliver hated that John Diggle always had it all figured out. His friend was always so calm and collected, while Oliver felt like an overstrained mess. And as he sat in their favorite booth of their favorite burger restaurant, while the rain drummed against the windowpane restlessly, he also felt utterly exhausted. His heavy training regime was finally catching up with him as he dared himself to relax for the first time in two weeks.  
  
The waitress had just put their burgers and fries on the table between them. The delicious smell of meat and fat hit Oliver's nostrils, and his stomach rumbled in protest. He hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, which was neither healthy nor unusual for Oliver, and he had to admit that no matter how much he hated it: Diggle always had everything figured out; Oliver really needed this. He took a few fries and stuffed them into his mouth. He chewed, enjoying the taste thoroughly.  
  
This caused John Diggle to chuckle, “Best comfort food there is.”  
  
Oliver ignored that, because it hinted at things he didn't want to discuss – even though, he had the distinct feeling that Diggle would push these exact issues. Instead, Oliver looked at his friend who was always there for him. Oliver had sworn to himself that he would take more interest in his friend's life to really live up to all the definitions that friendship included. He had been selfish at first, had taken a lot and given little, but Felicity had rightfully thrown all of this into his face and he had learned his lesson. “Wouldn't you rather spent your Saturday night with Lyla?”  
  
Diggle smiled softly. “She's out of town,” he said, adding only one abbreviation as explanation, “A.R.G.U.S.”  
  
Oliver reached for his burger. “You said she had doubts about working with them?”  
  
“She does. But it's the kind of job you don't quit so easily.”  
  
Oliver nodded, not wanting to say anything to THAT. Instead, he asked, “how are things between you?”, before he took a huge bite of his burger.  
  
Again, Diggle smiled. “Well, considering that it's the second try at a relationship with my ex-wife, who's hardly in town, I'd say it works pretty well.” Diggle grabbed the bottle of tomato ketchup that stood next to the box of napkins on the table. “Maybe things even work out so well, because we don't see each other that often. It was too much closeness that drove us apart.” He unscrewed the lid and looked at the man sitting opposite to him, “not exactly the best basis for a second try.”  
  
Oliver swallowed and took a moment to look at his friend. “All you can do it try, Digg.”  
  
“That's true.” Now Diggle lifted his burger, “and good advice, actually. You should heed that yourself.”  
  
Instead of saying anything, Oliver took another bite of his burger and busied himself with chewing.  
  
Diggle didn't follow his example. “Oliver, you're close to self-destruction. All you do it train and work – day and night. You cannot go on like this. You put all your energy onto those non-cases that we have at the moment only to not deal with what's really worrying you.”  
  
“I can't.” Oliver looked at his partner intently. Without realizing what he was indirectly admitting, he went on, “If I go there, I cannot turn back. And that would be a mistake. I won't get into that.”  
  
“Wake up, man! You're in it already. And by the looks of it, you're in it far too deep.”  
  
Damn John Diggle for having it all figured out!  
  
Unhappily, Oliver let his burger drop onto his plate and sank back in his seat. He sounded as exhausted as he felt when he said, “My mother wants me to get Felicity an engagement ring. Apparently, I'm making the Queen-family look cheap at the moment.”  
  
“That must be worse than the destruction of the Glades.”  
  
Oliver didn't react to Diggle's sarcasm. “The damn engagement party is next Friday. That's the ring-deadline. But I can't add a ring to all of this. Giving somebody a ring should mean something.” He motioned at the other man across the table, “When you handed that ring to Lyla, it meant something, didn't it?”  
  
“It did.”  
  
“Felicity doesn't deserve this. She deserves better! Can you imagine me giving her a ring?”  
  
“After I saw the look on her face when you gave her that dress – yes, man, I can.”  
  
Her reaction to that had really been something else. It had caused a warmth to grow inside Oliver that was NOT supposed to be there. And it hadn't been supposed to intensify when he had seen her standing there in that tiny bathroom looking absolutely breath-taking in that damn dress. It had taken his breath away, and to lock this vision out of his mind had been seriously hard.  
  
Why he now dared to strip some of the carefully placed layers of suppression away, he didn't know. Probably because John Diggle had it all figured out and it was better to allow himself an evening of weakness before he really self-destructed. Or maybe it was the utter exhaustion that clawed at his defenses which were normally solidly strong.  
  
A smile played around Diggle's lips. “By the look on your face, so can you.”  
  
“That's crazy, Digg.”  
  
“What is? The idea of you and Felicity?”  
  
“The idea of Felicity being with me. She needs a nice man, somebody save. Like Barry Allan. He was good for her.”  
  
“But she sent him away.”  
  
Oliver sighed and leaned his head back, resting it against the bench with his eyes closed.  
  
John Diggle's next sentence caused his eyes to snap open again. “Felicity told Lance that you were a good man.” Leaning forward, his forearms resting next to his plate, he continued talking, “Oliver, I'm not saying you should propose to Felicity. Because, please, don't! All I'm saying is that you don't get to decide what's good for Felicity. All you get to decide is what's good for you. And you need to do that and stop this denial-thing you have going on, because it's causing more harm than good.”  
  
Oliver stared at his friend, not knowing what to say, not even knowing what to think.  
  
Diggle spared him from really reacting to what he had just said. “Okay. Enough with the girl talk. This is guys' night. I say we eat up and then head back to my place. I have beer and football.”  
  
Oliver knew what to say to that. “Football? There's no game tonight.”  
  
“No, but I developed the habit of recording games – since I have a night job that keeps me away from my TV regularly.”  
  
“Smart,” Oliver complimented. “I haven't watched a game in forever.”  
  
Diggle smirked and nodded. He turned serious again. “One last thing, you really shouldn't get Felicity a ring under these circumstances. Your mother will get over it. After all she's not wondering why you and Felicity aren't living together.”  
  
Oliver sighed. “She doesn't have to wonder; I made it a habit to sleep in the lair.”  
  
The other man stared at him. “Okay, that's pathetic. You're crashing at my place tonight.”  
  
Thank God for John Diggle having it all figured out.

 


	6. Reinventing the wheel to run myself over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm not giving you time to breathe; another update already. But I thought we could celebrate the fact that the Arrow-premiere is exactly one week away. Yeah, I'm counting the days... I hope I'm not the only one. ;-)
> 
> You guys will be happy to hear that the wonderful Gina agreed to be my beta. She's so patient with me and absolutely amazing.
> 
> A huge thank you to **rashaka** , **wordscreatereality** and **Kyral** for leaving a comment in the very little time I gave them between updates. ;-) Really: Thank you!

**6\. Reinventing the wheel to run myself over (Fall Out Boy)  
  
** Thea was a bad influence. If the ladies of the Starling City Women's Foundation knew about Felicity's Saturday night, they most definitely wouldn't let her join their thing. Not that she wanted to, but lately Felicity did many things she didn't want to.  
  
Like drinking _that_ many Tequila Sunrises.  
  
Felicity had been so determined to not let this night of clubbing get out of hand. And, at first, she hadn't. She had been very aware of all the eyes on her, of the camera phones secretly and openly pointing in her direction, of the fact that everybody in this club could end up being a source for a juicy article on SGN.

Whether these thoughts were signs of beginning paranoia or absolutely justified, Felicity wasn't exactly sure. And Thea's comment that her outfit would photograph amazingly hadn't helped matters at all. But it had been nice to go out again, to spend a Saturday night doing something normal people her age did. Something normal other people her age did, other than watching TV. Felicity had broken the habit of becoming anti-social last Saturday.  
  
Sadly, she had also broken the habit of staying sober  
  
In her defense, it had been an accident. She hadn't really noticed how drunk she was until she was too drunk to care.  
  
Thea, being the boss of this partying and needing to keep a clear head as long as paying customers were around, had opened the Tequila only when the club had been about to close. That had been around the time Felicity normally left. She had felt like such a wild child for having one last drink with her girlfriend when everybody else was heading home. She had turned from wild child to giggling mess when another drink had followed the last one again and again and again. But the girls had been talking, discussing the dreadful gala and the up-coming engagement party and the bitches at Queen Consolidated that gave Felicity a hard time and Thea's worry that Roy was trying to become the next Arrow. Granted, the last topic had been touchy for Felicity, but she thought she had handled that quite well. The girls had just chatted away while drinking without really noticing it, while realizing that they both had too little female company in their lives. They were both all work and no play, and they had collectively decided that they needed to change that. At that moment it had been the logical thing to celebrate this resolution with more alcohol.  
  
It had been around noon, when Detective Lance had called – and quickly ended the call again. Felicity dimly remembered telling him that he was one of the few people who actually called her and that this was another proof that she needed to go out more. Somehow she had continued talking and ended up assuring him that she wouldn't drive right now for obvious reasons and that she always buckled up. Safety first! How she had ended up there... She honestly didn't know.  
  
She did know that not much later Oliver and Roy had shown up to get the girls home.  
  
It had been nice of Thea to tell Oliver what a good taste in women he had and that Felicity was the best sister-in-law ever. That had been really nice. Felicity remembered intense hugging that had followed between the girls and the promise to be besties from now on. And then Oliver had thrown Felicity over his shoulder to get her out of there.  
  
After that... There was nothing.  
  
The next thing she knew was waking up in her bed, because her alarm was ringing. She had slept through till Monday morning and it was time to go to work.  
  
She got to work _late_.  
  
This morning had been the first that Oliver Queen had ever been at Queen Consolidated earlier than Felicity Smoak.  
  
Her latte was waiting for her, at her desk – cold. Felicity was taking a sip of it right now anyway. It wasn't half bad actually. What made it even better was the double choc muffin that had rested next to the paper coffee cup. She chewed happily, enjoying every moment of the unhealthiest breakfast ever. Who cared?! It was a heavenly treat. And it was amazing that Oliver had treated her to it. She owed him a huge thank you – and most likely an apology. She didn't know for sure, but the odds were incredibly high that she had said something incredibly stupid; she just couldn't remember.  
  
The last time she had felt like this, she had still been in college. Exams had been finished and they had gone really well and she and Sally felt like making up for the time they had spent locked away in their dorm room studying and... Let's just say it had ended with Felicity's first hack into a police server to delete the mug shots of Sally, which were seriously unflattering... Poor Sally. Felicity had always been good at running in high heels.  
  
The rumbling of her phone vibrating on her desk pulled Felicity out of her thoughts, which were kinda slow today. She reached for it and saw a message from Thea:  Kill me now.  
  
Felicity smirked and typed, Can't. Too much effort. She was about to lay the phone down again, when she saw that she had six missed calls – all from Detective Lance. Immediately, Felicity felt caught and guilty. She was Lance's way of contacting the Arrow. If something bad happened, or rather, hadn't been prevented from happening, because she had spent a night in a drunken alcohol haze, she would be _so_ pissed at herself. She quickly pressed a button and brought the phone to her ear.  
  
It took some time till the Detective answered. “Miss Smoak, back in the land of the living?”  
  
“Detective, I'm really sorry I didn't answer your calls.”  
  
“Don't worry about it. I already discussed everything with the person I wanted to get information to. It's all good.”  
  
No, Felicity thought, nothing was good. She had acted irresponsibly and hadn't been there when she was needed. She might not be able to fight or shoot or arrow somebody, but she did her part. She liked doing that, liked being a part of this, a part of something bigger. And in her try to find her inner rebel, she had neglected that. She felt awful.  
  
She swallowed, “Oh, okay. I'll talk to him then.”  
  
“Do that, Miss Smoak. I have to go."  
  
“Bye, detective.”  
  
“Bye.”  
  
She hung up and unhappily took another bite of her muffin. Chewing, she reached for her phone again. She had just pressed the sent button to beam another message to Thea –  okay, what are friends for: I'll kill you, if you kill me first –, when she saw Oliver leave the conference room and head toward his desk.  
  
Quickly, she wiped her mouth. She didn't want to make talking to him even more difficult by having to worry about muffin crumbs sticking to her lip. Trying to seem determined, she got up and walked toward his office. He was standing next to his desk, greeting her with a small smile. “Hey, how're you feeling?”  
  
“Like I should apologize.”  
  
He made a dismissive gesture. “We all have to blow off steam from time to time.”  
  
He should know, he had to blow off steam _all_ the time. She frowned involuntarily as she really registered what he was saying. Had that been what she had been doing? Okay, right. When Scott had broken up with her, Tequila had been of more help than punching a pillow. But back then she had had obvious anger to vent, dark emotions to work through. Neither had been true on Saturday. It had just been fun to get mindlessly drunk, to slow her thoughts down, and to just be carefree with Thea. Okay, maybe she had been tense after the last few weeks-  
  
Oliver cut into her rambling thoughts, “Don't worry about it.”  
  
“But I do worry about it. Detective Lance called me-”  
  
“I know.” He still smiled. “He called me Sunday around one p.m. to tell me to take better care of you and get you home safely. He was in full father-mode.”  
  
Really?! That was strangely nice, but beside the point, “No, he didn't want to talk to _you_ when he called. Not really, I mean.”  
  
“I know,” Oliver turned serious immediately. “Something came up. I will fill you in later.”  
  
Felicity slowly nodded. “I'm sorry, I didn't do my part and-”  
  
“Felicity.” His voice was strict. “Stop apologizing. It was your day off. You deserve some fun. You did nothing wrong.”  
  
“Did I say anything embarrassing?” The question just tumbled from her lips before she could stop herself. She dreaded the answer, but she did need to know. “When you brought me home, I mean. Thank you for doing that, by the way. I think if I had stayed any longer, I would have needed to get my stomach pumped. And I was there when Sally drank that whole bottle of Ouzo. The second hand experience was bad enough.” She shuddered.  
  
“I can tell you first hand, it's worse than it looks.” Seeing the surprise on her face, he shrugged, “You didn't know me before the island.”  
  
“Sounds like pre-island-Oliver was more fun.”  
  
“Let's say more reckless."  
  
“I said something awful, didn't I? That's why we're changing the subject.”  
  
“It wasn't awful.”  
  
“Tell me.” She needed to know just to decide how big a rock to hide under.  
  
Oliver had just opened his mouth, when he glanced past Felicity at something behind her. He frowned in question, which caused Felicity to turn around and freeze in pure shock. She had to be hallucinating. She had never done that from too much alcohol, but she hadn't had a real drink in a long time, and maybe the Tequila had been bad. She had to be seeing things, she just _had_ to, because as illogical as this may sound, it was the only thing that made sense. It was the only logical reason why there, following Diggle, her mother was walking toward her.  
  
Her breath caught in her throat, she felt panic rise inside her. The thought that “this can't be happening” popped up in Felicity's mind and she repeated it quite a few times ‘til it turned into an unanswered prayer. She helplessly watched as Diggle lead her mother into Oliver's office.  
  
The blond older woman entered the room with a huge smile and her arms stretched out wide, “Lizzy!”  
  
Felicity managed to force out a “Mom,” before her mother pulled her in for a big hug. She felt the men's eyes on her and imagined Oliver's stinging more than Diggle's.  
  
Her mother let go. “Let me look at you.” Her eyes wandered over Felicity, who immediately felt warped back to high school, when her mother had checked her outfits to make sure they were cool enough. Spoiler alert: They never were. Her mother, on the other hand, looked ten years younger than she was as she stood there showing off her flawless figure in blue jeans and a red blouse that should both be considered too tight. But this was her mother and she somehow made it work. “You look tired, baby,” her mother observed now, but turned to Oliver in the next moment. “Is this one keeping you up all night?” She nudged her daughter with her elbow, “Good for you.”  
  
With every other person this would have trigged a denying rant, but this was her mother and Felicity knew her and she knew that there was no use. “Mom, this is Oliver Queen. Oliver, my mother, Donna Smoak.”  
  
Felicity hadn't dared to look at Oliver yet, but now she glanced at him. She was a little bit miffed to find him absolutely collected and cool. He held his hand out, “It is very nice to meet you, Mrs. Smoak.”  
  
“Pleeease,” the older blond woman said now, as she ignored the outstretched hand and instead went in for the hug, “call me Donna. After all, we're going to be family.” She kept her arms around Oliver for a little longer than was polite. And when she finally let go, she put her hand on his upper arm, testing his bicep. “Wow, you are _firm_!”  
  
Felicity knew where this was going. She had witnessed it too many times to still be surprised by her mother acting like this. But right now they weren't at a casino in Las Vegas, and Oliver wasn't some tipsy high roller away from wife and kids her mother could flatter into a bigger tip. “Mom,” Felicity brought the other woman's attention back to her, “what are you doing here?”  
  
Donna Smoak let go of Oliver and turned to her daughter, “What does it look like I'm doing? I am meeting my future son-in-law. Who you didn't even tell me about when we last talked on the phone.”  
  
“That was four months ago.”  
  
“Don't try to tell me you weren't with him back then, Felicity Meghan Smoak, because marrying a boy you only know for a few weeks wouldn't be like you at all... Even though,” she glanced around the room, “many things here are not like you at all.” She motioned to her daughter, “What's with the secretarial outfit?”  
  
Subconsciously and self-consciously, Felicity brought her hands to her purple dress and straightened invisible crinkles out before she realized that she was falling back into teenage behavior she was supposed to have grown out of long ago, ”I like it. It's a pretty dress. Plus: I got it on sale.”  
  
“And you're still insisting on the ponytail. At least you spiced it up a little, brought it up to make it bounce.”  
  
“Mom...” Felicity made that word sound like a sigh. She couldn't have the discussion, again.  
  
But, obviously, her mother didn't agree. “I always told you; your hair is an asset!” As if to prove it, Donna smoothed her own golden locks back, which fell over her shoulder in styled perfection. “You're lucky you got my hair, which,” she glanced at Oliver to make sure he got that very important piece of information, “I got it from my mother's side. Thank the heavens! My father's sister had really thin strands, it was awful!” Felicity had heard this too often to count, and she knew about the big conclusion, “She had to wear a wig, the poor thing. Never could afford a good one, it always looked like a poodle had died on her head. Just dreadful.” Her mother shook her own head and let her own hair flow around her face, before she turned her attention back to her daughter, “Which is why you should be happy you have hair like this. You need to flaunt it, not tuck it away.”  
  
“I don't have to flaunt anything.” Only as this sentence left her lips did Felicity realize that she was back to her old habit of defending her actions to her mother.  
  
Her mother was smiling. “Lizzy, I saw those pictures of you in that green dress – and you flaunted your girls in that one.” She looked at Oliver, “She looked great that evening. Sadly, she didn't get my boobs, but she really worked well with what she has.” It was a compliment her mother was very serious about, but it horrified Felicity on more levels than she could say. And the older woman was still talking, turning back to her daughter, “But you should have put in contacts. You need to pay more attention to stuff like that,“ she pointed her thumb at Oliver, “being the wife of this one kinda makes that part of the job description.”  
  
“It's not my job to be a wife!”  
  
“No, you're a secretary.”  
  
“Executive Assistant.”  
  
“Potatoes – potatoes. Same difference.” Donna obviously knew what her daughter wanted to say to this and added, “and spare me any empowerment speeches. I knew you spent too much time with Candi at the blackjack table. Her feminist views weren't good for a young and impressionable girl like you.”  
  
“Not wanting old men to slap her ass is hardly a feminist view.”  
  
Donna brought her hands up, her plans facing upwards. “See, that's what I'm talking about. That's not something men find attractive."  
  
“Well, this girl with her unattractive ponytail and her glasses and her feminist tendencies still managed to bag a billionaire.” As her ears registered what her mouth had said Felicity flinched instantly. She turned to Oliver, who she had ignored in the last few minutes, “not that I did bag you. Or...”  
  
Her mother had never let Felicity go into rant-mode, “Oh, shut up! Of course, you bagged him. He proposed to you!” She smirked, “And good for you! First Smoak girl to marry money. And it comes with such a sexy, muscled hunk. That's a win-win, if I ever saw one.”  
  
Felicity blamed her own tendency to say absolutely inappropriate things on her mother, but unlike Felicity Donna Smoak never apologized for them.  
  
Instead, the older blonde kept talking, “Which reminds me; I heard there'll be an engagement party on Friday. Is there a special dress code, because I might need to go shopping?”  
  
“The engagement party?” Felicity felt a shiver of panic go through her. “You want to stay for that?”  
  
“Of course, I _came_ for that. I figured my invitation must have gotten lost. After all, I am the mother of the bride. I thought Oliver would like to get to know his mother-in-law.” She winked at him, “You must be relieved to see how gracefully Smoak-women age.”  
  
Oliver just ignored the last statement. He was in his CEO-mode, “Of course, why don't we have dinner tonight?”  
  
“What?” Felicity snapped, “No!” Feeling the eyes of the other three people in the office settle on her, she hurried to add, “I mean, we can't tonight, we have an important meeting concerning recent developments.”  
  
“That is true, but if Donna doesn't mind a late dinner, we can do both.”  
  
“Oh, I don't mind a late dinner. I live for the night.”  
  
Felicity barely kept from rolling her eyes. When exactly had she turned fifteen again? “Fine!”  
  
“Take the day off,” Oliver decided now. “Spend some time with your mother. I'll see you later for our meeting.”  
  
Sending Oliver one last angry glance, she turned around. “Come on, Mom. I'll show you Starling City.”  
  
Donna Smoak didn't move. “Aren't you going to kiss him goodbye?”  
  
Felicity saw Diggle bite back a grin, but Felicity ignored it and kept on moving away forcefully, “NO!”

 

*******

 

She didn't kiss Oliver hello either. Not that anybody present would expect her to. She had left the weird twilight zone that surrounded her mother behind. Instead, she had returned to the real world. The irony of the fact that the lair, where her fake fiancé kept his equipment needed for his secret identity that involved a bow and leather, was the real world to her wasn't lost on Felicity. However the last six hours she had spent with her mother left her too exhausted to be amused by this.  
  
Her mom had always been like this; easy-going, flirty, most comfortable surrounded by people, without a care in the world. All of that had forced Felicity to care; about paying the rent and filling the fridge, about school and grates, about getting out of Las Vegas to start living her own life. It wasn't like she had left Nevada to never see or speak to her mom again, but she just didn't feel like seeing her now and hearing her say all these things that reminded her so much of things that she wanted to forget.  
  
“How was the day with your mother?”  
  
The real answer to Oliver's question was a long and heated rant, but Felicity really didn't feel like this right now. “I don't want to talk about it.” She placed her purse on her desk and turned around to see two men frowning at her.  
  
“You don't want to talk about it?” Diggle's voice sounded disbelieving.  
  
“I don't,” she assured, and the look that crossed the faces of Oliver and John spoke silent volumes: You always talk about everything! Felicity ignored that and did what the other two normally did when personal matters were discussed – she changed the subject. “So, what was this new development that arose while I slumbered away?”  
  
Oliver and Diggle both visibly hesitated. Felicity could see that Diggle wasn't willing to let this go, but – thankfully – Oliver was, “Vertigo popped up again.”  
  
“What does that mean?”  
  
Diggle sighed and answered her question, “It means that an altered version of it was found during the autopsy of the people who committed mass suicide on Saturday.”  
  
Felicity needed a moment to take that in. “Altered? Altered how?”  
  
Oliver took a step toward her, “We're not sure. That's why I need you to contact Star Labs. Lance gave me a blood sample. We need to know how this new Vertigo affects people.”  
  
“So these suicide victims-” Felicity frowned, “is it okay to call them victims, if it was suicide? Sounds, kind of strange. After all if it was suicide they probably wouldn't call themselves that.” Seeing the look on Oliver's face, she caught herself and got back on track, “Are we sure it was suicide when these people were hopped up on Vertigo?”  
  
“I’m not.” Oliver now walked over to her and motioned to her computers. “That's why I need you to pull up plans of the supply circuits underneath the building where the bodies were found.”  
  
Felicity sat down while he gave her the address.  
  
“You were there last night and checked the place out?” John asked now.  
  
“I was,” Oliver confirmed. “And something felt off.”  
  
“What did?”  
  
Oliver didn't answer his friend's question as Felicity had already found the plans. “Are there gas tubes underneath the building?”  
  
Felicity typed in a few more commands and then looked at the plan she had pulled up. “Not directly under the building, but they are running underneath the street.”  
  
“But that building is connected to them?”  
  
Diggle crossed his arms over his chest, “If you told us what you're looking for, this might be a bit easier.”  
  
Oliver, whose hands had been resting on Felicity's desk as he had bent down next to her to have a good look at the screens, straightened up again. “I was in the apartment where they found the bodies. Officially, they killed themselves using gas. An empty canister was found in the middle of them, the nozzle stuck so it sprayed constantly. But there was blood spatter on the walls. Not much, but... It didn't feel like these people just fell asleep because of gas, it felt more violent than that. Detective Lance had the same suspicion, which was confirmed by the Vertigo found during the autopsy.”  
  
“And now you're asking yourself why somebody would bring a gas canister when the building was connected to gas tubes which would have done the same trick,” Felicity said while she was typing and her eyes were placed on her screen. “Which is a good question, because you're right; the building has gas heating.”  
  
Diggle's posture stiffened, “You think this version of Vertigo is gaseous? That would move it from dangerous drug to chemical weapon.” His till now crossed arms fell to his sides as realization hit, “And that would make this mass suicide really a test, if this weapon worked.”  
  
“That is my suspicion.” Oliver looked at Felicity. “I need you to check the victims – and I think it's okay to call them that. Try to find anything that explains why they were chosen. And contact Star Labs.”  
  
Felicity watched as Oliver walked to his bow, “And what are you going to do?”  
  
“I'll have a little chat with Dent Bradfort.”  
  
“The board member of Queen Consolidated? What do you want to chat about with him?”  
  
“About his factory in Bangladesh that collapsed last week and how he should care for the families of the victims and the survivors.”  
  
“Wow,” Felicity frowned. “That sounds very old-school-work. Like we're back with the Hood.”  
  
“Dent Bradfort was on the list, yes. But this is a newer development.”  
  
Felicity felt like asking him, if this newer development was a result of Bradfort's constant criticism of Oliver's CEO-skills and the fact that it only stopped after Bradfort thought he was engaged, but Oliver spoke up first, “Don't worry. I'll be back on time for that dinner with your mother.”  
  
“Oh,” Felicity turned to her computer, “you don't have to hurry.”  
  
“But I will,” Oliver moved back to the desk and bent down next to her. This caused her to look at him and when their eyes met she saw an amused sparkle in his. She felt slightly unsure about this and knew she was right to be suspicious in the next moment, when he said, “This morning so many things about you just became so unbelievably clear.”

  
*******

 

She should be prying into other people's lives. That might be inappropriate, but that was what she should be doing. What she should _not_ be doing is witnessing her mother empty her glass of overpriced red wine with one swing while the waiter watched with a disapproving look on his face. Her mother pointed her index finger, with its long fingernail colored in bright red, at the glass, “You can fill that right up again.”  
  
The waiter did and left after taking their orders with one last nod at Oliver.  
  
A moment of silence settled over the three people. Unsurprisingly, it was Donna ending it. “The wine's good.” She motioned to Felicity's glass filled with table water, “You should try some.”  
  
“I'm laying off the alcohol for a while.”  
  
“Why?” The sound in her mother's voice made her absolute misunderstanding clear.  
  
“I'm still recovering from the weekend.”  
  
“What did you do? Live it up at the country club?!” There was so much judgment in her mother's voice that Felicity felt her defensive instincts kick in, but her mother wasn't done talking, “Can't beat some of the parties we had in Vegas. Like your graduation party. Remember that?” No matter how hard Felicity tried she would never be able to forget that. “That boy puked all over the pool table.” Donna laughed at the memory of that. “What was his name again?”  
  
“Craig.” The name fell from Felicity's lips in an automatic answer. While she was asking herself why she was even doing it, she added, “Craig Riddlemeyer.”  
  
“Cute kid,” Donna said, now to Oliver, while she moved her right hand with her half-full wineglass through the air in a broad gesture. “He was Lizzy's first.”  
  
“Mom!” This gasped outcry proved it; Felicity was still 13 at heart.  
  
“What?” Her mother looked surprised. “He was your first boyfriend, wasn't he? And I knew about the rest when you bought that silky underwear. Before it was always boring cotton.”  
  
“Sexy underwear isn't all that.” Felicity's mouth was once again quicker than her common sense. “Because there is nothing sexy about a guy fumbling with hooks and-” Her brain caught up with her mouth and she shut it immediately.  
  
“Lizzy always came to the casino with me.” It was a random thing for Donna Smoak to say, but the topic change seemed to make sense to her, “Oliver, did you know she knows her way around a casino?”  
  
“I happen to know that, yes.” It was the first thing Oliver said in the last few minutes.  
  
It seemed to stun Donna. She let her glass sink a little. “Really? You knew?”  
  
“She told me.”  
  
Donna looked at her daughter. “You told him?” Now she actually put her glass down. “That must be a first.” She really studied Oliver, “Normally, Lizzy's too embarrassed to mention it. Which is a good thing, really, because she got in the habit of counting cards, which you shouldn't get caught doing.”  
  
“It's all probability theory and mathematics, of course, Felicity is good at it.” Donna studied him again. Oliver tried his polite smile, “It was nice of you to come out for our engagement party.”  
  
Donna instinctively reached for her glass again, “It started to become obvious that I had to take the initiative.”  
  
This sentence caused a sour feeling to rise inside Felicity. She didn't want to feel guilty over it, but she somehow did – a little. Her and her mother weren't overly close. If they managed to talk on the phone every other month, they were doing well. It wasn't like Felicity didn't love her mother or care about her. She did, but they had a rocky past, and Donna Smoak was many things Felicity Smoak fought very hard not to be. There had been a reason why she had moved from Nevada to Massachusetts – aka to the other end of the country – as soon as possible. She had literally put much space between them to also figuratively distance herself from her mother.  
  
It had obviously worked out too well. Never had Felicity stopped to consider what this must look like to her mother: her being engaged without telling her. It might be a fake engagement, but it was a very public one and her mother finding out wasn't very surprising. Still, Felicity hadn't even thought about picking up the phone and informing her. And that wasn't because it was a fake engagement and she didn't want to involve her mother in it, it was because involving her mother was never a thing Felicity wanted to do.  
  
“I know, I know. I'm not as, classy, as your new family,” Donna said now. She emptied another glass of wine, and it reminded Felicity that her mother was a sentimental drunk. Donna Smoak took the wine bottle and refilled her glass yet again. Her eyes were accusatory and heavy lidded, “But I _am_ your mother, and I shouldn't hear about your engagement from the girl who does your Aunt Gloria's hair!”  
  
Felicity swallowed. “You're right. I'm sorry. I should have called you.”  
  
“Yes, you should have!” Donna took another sip of her wine and when she sat the glass down again there was once again a smile on her face. “But don't worry. I bought a new dress for your engagement party. I tested it with the rich people at the casino – was a huge success. You'll see. People will love me.”  
  
Now Felicity could use some of that red wine herself.

 


	7. Passive Aggressive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge, heartfelt thank you to everybody you pressed the kudos-button and, of course even more so, to everybody who left a comment. **Albiona** , **n7horcrux** , **wordscreatereality** , **BellaPaige88** and **tenimmortalroses**. You guys are great! And thank you to my beta Gina for her help.
> 
> I know I took my time, but here it is: the engagement party. I hope it lives up to your expectations.

**7\. Passive Aggressive (Placebo)  
  
** The flames were crawling over the ceiling. The heat was nearly unbearable, the air was filled with burning fumes, making it hard to see and to breathe. But Oliver knew that there was a woman nearby. He had heard her call for help not long ago, but now she was silent. The fire was so bright, clawing at the walls like an angry animal. He knew he didn't have much time left, before he had to leave this building or lose consciousness himself.  
  
He made his way around the next corner of this long hall. Doors were visible to the left and the right. They were all closed. He had opened a few of them, but had only been greeted by walls of fire each time. He had already brought quite a few people to safety, carried them toward the grass that spread out in front of this building, he knew the fire fighters would be here any moment, but he couldn't just leave when he had heard somebody call for help. This was a hospital on fire, he had been called for help by a woman who was sick and could most likely not help herself, and he wouldn't let her down.  
  
A cough crawled up his throat, which burned with the smoke he had inhaled, but he still quickened his steps. Suddenly, he saw a shape in the smolder billowing around him. He hurried toward it and found that the 'it' was a 'she'. A woman lay there, bundled up into a ball. Quickly, Oliver lifted her up. His steps were heavier now – not only because he was carrying a person in his arms, but because he had trouble seeing through the smoke. He had trouble keeping himself up, trouble breathing. But he willed himself to stay conscious to move one foot in front of the other.  
  
Willpower, it was one of the things that had kept him alive during five hellish years. He had survived these five years where he had been to purgatory and back, and he wasn't willing to die now, not when he had survived everything else. He fought on and just held his breath as long as he could to reduce the fumes he inhaled. But, damn, this took too long. There had to be a quicker way out. He reached the staircase and used his bow to break one of the windows. Within moments a rope was spread between the building and the nearest tree. Holding onto the unconscious woman, he hooked his bow into the rope and was gliding down toward the ground with her in seconds. Gently, he placed her on the ground and saw a medic run toward them instantly.  
  
The old building was burning brightly behind him. Flames were leaking out of the windows; the fire was angrily cracking in the night. Oliver knew that there was no use going back in. The fire fighters were already at work, and it was time for him to get to the Foundry and some fresh oxygen into his burning lunges. He had to cough again. He started moving as he heard the medic behind him yell that he should wait and let himself be checked, but that was the last thing Oliver wanted. He ignored how difficult it was to breathe as best as he could and ran to his (new) bike. He had to get out of here.

 

*******

 

People took oxygen for granted. At least, normal people did. But Oliver wasn't normal in that regard. As someone who had nearly drowned multiple times, he knew the importance of getting a good lungful of air. Which was what he was getting right now. He pressed the mask, which covered his nose and mouth and was connected to an oxygen tank, against his face and inhaled deeply. He felt the looks of his two partners on him, but they kept from commenting on it.  
  
Instead, Felicity said, “I have some news that you will not like, which is why I'll tell you while you're busy breathing.” Narrowing his eyes, he looked at her as she stood quite a few steps away from where he sat. “As you know I spent the last few days looking into every aspect of the Vertigo-victims' lives. I have started to call them that. It has a nice ring to it, I think. Even though, what happened is of course not nice at all...” Oliver let his eyes do the talking for him, and thankfully that was enough to get her back on topic. “They were all very, very ordinary people. Normal jobs, normal financial situation, normal family lives. Nothing special.” Okay, she was right, he didn't like that at all; another dead-end. “But then I checked Vertigo-victim Matthew Walker. Of course, he was the last on my list, which was ordered alphabetically. I like the alphabet. I mean, it's pretty useful, but in this case it was a hindrance.”  
  
“Felicity!” His voice was raspy – maybe that made his snap even more effective.  
  
She jumped back on point, “Matthew Walker worked at Starling City Asylum.”  
  
Oliver frowned. It took him a moment to understand what that meant. “Like the guy who supposedly paid the mobsters who were with the alleged Bomber.”  
  
“Yes, like Warren Davis.” Felicity nodded. “Now we're at the part you won't like. And I'm sorry, but when I first checked I only looked for hints that Davis was an evil mastermind. But now that the asylum came up again – and it was the only thing that stood out in the least, I checked him again and found something I overlooked before. I'm really sorry."  
  
“What did you find?”  
  
“Davis fired a doctor after Walker filed a complaint about him.” She held her pad out to him quickly, “Meet Dr. Jonathan Crane. He's a psychiatrist. He worked at the asylum for five years, but was fired in January. It seems to be a pattern for him, because before he was fired from Stanford where he taught Psychology. Makes you question the standard of Stanford professors, doesn't it?!” Seeing the expression on the men's faces, she hurried to say, “Anyway, it seems like Crane did non-sanctioned experiments on patients at the asylum. That's what his file said, it didn't get into any more detail, but I have some very disturbing images in my head. Very Clockwork Orange.” She shuddered. “I saw that movie as a kid, gave me nightmares. I'm just not good with violence.” She frowned and thought for a moment, “Seems like I have gotten better with that lately.”  
  
Oliver was still studying the picture visible on Felicity's iPad. It showed a pale, skinny man. His eyes lay deep in his head and were surrounded by dark shadows, his cheekbones were protruding and his small lips were strangely red. He looked sick somehow. Oliver turned the oxygen tank off and placed the mask on top of it. “Any idea where Crane is now?”  
  
“That might also be a coincidence, Oliver.” Diggle reminded now. “I know you're frustrated because we ran into dead-ends with the bombing and Vertigo, but this connection is very thin. Maybe we're connecting two things that are not really connected.”  
  
“I don't believe in coincidences,” Oliver said, his voice hard. “And we have three things.” Seeing the silent question on his friend's face, he added, “The building that burnt down tonight was Starling City Asylum.”

 

*******

 

Oliver really didn't believe in coincidences. And it was too big of a coincidence that Jonathan Crane was nowhere to be found. It was like he fell off the face of the earth – and Oliver knew how hard it was to disappear without leaving a trace that Felicity Smoak couldn't find. He had instead tried paying a visit to Warren Davis, the director of the asylum, to ask him about Crane and these experiments of his, only to find that Davis had been in the asylum during the fire and the only victim.  
  
That also was too much of a coincidence for Oliver.  
  
And while he was at it, he knew that it wasn't a coincidence that Felicity was still at the lair when he returned from his second errant of the night. It was past two a.m. and way past her bedtime on a Thursday evening when she had to be at her desk at QC early Friday morning. He put his bow down gently and walked toward her, “Hey, what are you doing?”  
  
“I'm checking into Crane's past, but so far I haven't found anything useful.”  
  
“Is that really what you're doing?”  
  
“What else would I be doing?”  
  
“Avoiding your mother...”  
  
The look on her face showed him that he had hit the nail on the head. He leaned against the desk next to her, his hands on the edge. His voice was soft as he said, “Talk to me, Felicity.”  
  
“It's complicated.”  
  
“Isn't it always with family?”  
  
“I feel guilty, because I made her believe that I was ready to get married without telling her. And I'm angry, because she makes me feel guilty. It isn't like she’s tried to call me in the last four months! It's not only my fault we're not closer.” Now her eyes snapped to Oliver. She pointed a threatening index-finger at him, “You will not give her any money, you hear me. She'll ask you for it, I know she will, but don't give her anything.”  
  
Oliver nodded. He wished he could take some of her tension away. He wished he would dare to hug her to him. But he didn't know how to do the first and he didn't dare to do the latter. After the conversation he had with Diggle, Oliver had had to admit to himself that he wanted Felicity. Not in a sexual way... Okay, not ONLY in a sexual way. He wanted her to be his. He had admitted this to himself.  
  
But he wasn't ready to admit this to her.  
  
“I obviously don't know your mom very well, but I don't think she came just to collect some money.”  
  
“No,” Felicity agreed. “She didn't. But,” she swiveled in her chair to fully turn to him, “she just came here and brought with her some things that I thought I had grown out off. I thought I had left Las Vegas behind. It's like... my ‘Lizzy’ to your ‘Ollie’.”  
  
He understood perfectly what she wanted to say with that. It was something that they felt didn't fit them anymore, they had stopped being those people, but others failed to realize that. But maybe it was also them failing to accept reality. He looked at her, his head tipped to the side a little. “Felicity, it's where you grew up. It will always be a part of you.” He accompanied his next words with a small smile, “And it can't be that bad, because I like the whole you.”  
  
He was rewarded by one of Felicity's most beautiful smiles. He couldn't help but return it. Some defenses were simply destroyed for good.  
  
Uncharacteristically, it was her ending the moment by leaning her head back in her chair and sighing. “I'm dreading tomorrow. It will be awful.”  
  
He swallowed. “Just so you know, my mother wanted me to get you an engagement ring...”  
  
She snapped up into a straight position instantly, “Oh.”  
  
“I didn't buy one.”  
  
“Of course. Good. That's good. Very okay.” Felicity's voice sounded strange when she said that. “I'm used to your mother being passive aggressive.”  
  
He looked at her for a long moment, but he just couldn't come up with anything smart to say. “Come on,” he finally stated and got up from the desk. “It's time to go home.”

 

*******

 

Verdant was not in full-party mode, but that was actually perfect for the occasion. This was a party for people to mingle and to make an appearance – because this whole engagement party was about appearances and nothing else. It wasn't about drinking, dancing the night away and having fun. Blinking disco lights and loud music wouldn't be adequate. Thea had toned it down appropriately, she had added some more tables and seats; the decorations were tasteful and most likely very expensive.  
  
It was a change of pace from the usual Friday night at Verdant. Just like Oliver holding Felicity's hand was a change from their normal routine of non-touching. They stood next to each other with Dent Bradfort at the moment, who Oliver despised with everything he had, while keeping his patented polite smile on his face. “I think that Star Labs could be a great asset,” Oliver was saying at the moment.  
  
“It's overpriced,” Bradfort objected. “I think investing in our existing science devision will be more fruitful in the long run. We also need to improve the IT-department.”  
  
“Why?” Of course, Felicity would ask that.  
  
Dent turned to her like he was surprised she dared to enter this conversation. He was a man who liked his women pretty and quiet. Felicity only fit one of these requirements. “Analysis show that efficiency is down by 12 percent in the last seven months.”  
  
“Maybe they lost an important staff member...”  
  
Hearing this, Oliver had to bite back a grin. They most definitely had. He registered Bradfort saying something to the effect that one person couldn't be the reason for such a decline – and if it was, there had been something wrong with this department to begin with. He registered him saying that, but his attention was really placed on John Diggle, who was heading directly his way, looking serious. This caused Oliver to stop Felicity from saying whatever she wanted to say to QC's most influential board member, “Dent, thank you very much for coming tonight. It means a lot to us.”  
  
“Of course,” Bradfort smiled one of his own fake smiles, “I wish you two all the best.”  
  
“Thank you. If you will excuse us for now,” Oliver said, “seems like we have some organizational matters to discuss.”  
  
Bradfort excused them, and Oliver quickly pulled Felicity with him to meet Diggle in the nearest corner. The supposed bodyguard / driver didn't wait for his supposed boss to ask him what was going on. “We have a possible Vertigo-alert. Somebody just called SCPD to report a lone gas-canister on downtown's central plaza. It might be nothing, but if it is...”  
  
It was a wide open space, open-air. It wasn't a closed room as it had been before. Diggle was right, it might be nothing. But he was also right with what he was not saying; if it was something, it was much more dangerous than they had dared to anticipate. This might be either no thread at all, because the wind thinned the gas too much to do any damage, or the wind carried the toxins all over the city resulting in an epidemic that couldn't be stopped. This left him no choice, “I have to go check it out.”  
  
He was about to move, when Felicity's hand closing around his stopped him. “You want to leave _now_?!”  
  
He frowned. “I have to.”  
  
“But this is our engagement party.” Realizing what she had said and what it sounded like, she hurried to add. “I didn't mean it like don't leave me alone at our _engagement party_ , but more like don't leave me _alone_ at our engagement party.”  
  
“Felicity, that's the same sentence.”  
  
“You cannot leave me here, with all these people I don't know. And the people I do know. Like your mom, and my mom, all in the same room.”  
  
He didn't have time for this. He felt his body tensing up, getting ready for a fight. He was getting into battle mode and he didn't have time to discuss this with her when she should know all this. “I have to go. I promise to hurry.”  
  
With that her hand fell from his. He was already heading toward the lair to change when he heard her mutter behind him, “If that's what our fake engagement is like, I don't even want to know what our fake marriage will bring.”

 

 

*******

 

 

The canister was about the same size as a galleon of water. It was bright orange which made it nearly impossible to overlook. At the same time it clearly signaled danger. Whoever had placed it there wanted it to be found. Oliver stood on a near rooftop to observe the scene. He wasn't exactly an expert in chemical weapons and he secretly was somehow relieved that SCPD had arrived before him and had secured the area. If Oliver wanted to get near the canister he would have to do so in front of everybody, and he wasn't willing to do that yet, because he had no idea what to do once he was there.  
  
Instead, he watched the two men in full-body plastic suits cautiously approach the thing. This proved that Detective Quentin Lance was down there. He was anticipatory enough to call biohazard-experts after the truth behind that supposed mass-suicide had been revealed.  
  
Oliver knew that he wasn't of much use right now, but he felt like he needed to stay and see firsthand what was happening. The two guys had now reached the canister and held an analyzer of some sort out to it. As it came close to the top of the canister, suddenly a bright orange mist started spraying from it.  
  
Oliver felt the blood freeze in his veins for a millisecond, before the thought that this timing was just too perfect popped up in his head. Instantly, he glanced around and saw nothing. Following another hunch he walked to the side of the building and looked down. There he saw what he had been looking for; a figure was standing nearly directly beneath him, in the small alley that was created by two buildings. Without thinking any further, Oliver jumped over the edge of the roof. He fell for a short second before his hands closed around the metal handrail of a fire escape attached to the building. He held on to it, slowing his fall, but let go nearly instantly only to grab the handrail two stories below. Then his feet touched the ground. He landed directly behind the man who had observed the scene with some sort of trigger in his left hand.  
  
The guy had turned around, no doubt alerted by the rattling of the fire escape during Oliver's rapid decent, and now he not only registered a man coming to him, but he also noticed who this exact man was. In the next moment he tried to swing at the Arrow. But Oliver was ready; he ducked the punch and instead bought his own fist up. The next few seconds showed that this man was no fighter. In almost no time he lay unconscious at Oliver's feet, who took the time to get a good look at this man's face. It wasn't Jonathan Crane.  
  
Oliver couldn't say that he was surprised. If the thing with poor Mister Burton and the bombing was any indication, Crane was a guy who liked others to do his dirty work. Which made Oliver, who always made sure to do the most dirty work himself, despise Crane even more. But even though Oliver was not surprised, he was a little disappointed. It would have been nice to end something so easily for once.  
  
He took his eyes of the man – who was more a boy really with flaming red hair and something on his face that might turn into a mustache if he waited another two years – and looked toward the plaza again. The men in their plastic suits were waving their hands at the moment. It was a gesture that was easy to understand. There was no danger there.  
  
No danger – of course that was a good thing. It should be a good thing, but all it did was anger Oliver. What kind of sick game was Crane playing here? And Oliver was absolutely sure that Crane was behind it. He had no real proof – apart from the connection Felicity had dug up and that Diggle called thin – but he just KNEW it was him. He just didn't know what Crane was up to, and WTF he was trying to do here with this charade, jerking people around and scaring them and bringing all these policemen out.  
  
This triggered something in Oliver; maybe that was it. Maybe, this was just a test run for the real thing to see how SCPD would react. Rarely had Oliver wished he was wrong about something, but he really hoped he was mistaken now. Because that could only mean the worst was yet to come.  
  
Which reminded him – he had an engagement party to get back to.

 

 

*******

 

He would much rather be downstairs and working, than upstairs and partying. The plaza was a very public place; there just had to be some security cameras Felicity could try to get footage of. This would be doing something useful about this new Vertigo mess and the bad feeling Oliver had about it. But he had to let it go for tonight. The frustrations, the tenseness, the bad feelings, the ache to hit somebody – he had to let it go, because that was all related to the Arrow. And that could have no place at this party that was all CEO-related.  
  
Oliver was very aware of the fact that somewhere along the line he had turned into a split personality.  
  
At the moment, he didn’t like either personality very much.  
  
He closed the secret entrance to the lair; made sure his suit was impeccable and took a deep breath to steady himself. The adrenaline was still there, roaming his body, and he needed to keep that in check. He had just rounded the corner and taken a few steps into the big hall that was the main clubbing area when suddenly Thea headed toward him, “Where WERE you?!”  
  
“An emergency at QC. I tried to make it quick.”  
  
The look on Thea's face made it obvious that she was not impressed with him. “Really? You had to GO?!” The sarcasm was dripping from every word as she now added, “Well, thank God you made it quick!” He stared at her, saying nothing, because he knew that if he did say something it would be the wrong thing. Thea obviously didn't expect an answer; instead she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along, “You came just in time to save your fiancée from your passive-aggressive ex.”  
  
“What?” He asked, but then he already saw it. Felicity was standing at a bar table holding on to her champagne flute with Laurel opposite to her. The expression on both females' faces made it absolutely clear that this wasn't going well. Without saying anything else to Thea he headed over there and moved to stand next to Felicity. He placed his arm around her as he kissed her temple. “Sorry, I hurried,” he said softly, and then he let his arm drop again and turned to look at Laurel. “Laurel, nice you could make it.”  
  
“Ollie,” she greeted him. “I heard something came up at the office.”  
  
“The head of our Russian subsidiary didn't know that I had the evening off.”  
  
Laurel nodded and took another sip of champagne. “Felicity was just telling me how you proposed.” He felt Felicity glance at him quickly, but Laurel was still talking, “Out of the blue, at dinner. You just asked. I always took you for a guy who'd turn this into more of a show. A guy who'd have a ring with him.”  
  
“It was spontaneous,” Felicity said now. “It wasn't anything special.” She realized what had just left her lips and added, “I mean, of course, it was special. A proposal – that just has to be special, right? It was very special to me, naturally. But it wasn't... with special effects.”  
  
Oliver knew what Felicity was doing – and it was typically her to downplay their engagement, to not dream up a big extravagant declaration of love. Felicity probably thought that this would be easier for Oliver's ex to hear, but Oliver knew that she was mistaken. Because even though he didn't know Laurel as well as he used to, he knew that she wasn't a girl for a big show either.  
  
He was proven right in the next moment when Laurel's eyes settled on him. “You spontaneously felt like proposing?” There was hurt in Laurel's voice; it was clearly audible and hard to miss. She took another swing of champagne. It was the alcohol talking, weakening her defenses, stripping her normally perfect manners away, Oliver was very sure of that. He realized right then that he had rarely seen her sober lately.  
  
“We should eat something. I'm hungry. How about you, Laurel? Because I really think you should eat something.” Felicity's suggestion was hardly subtle, but Oliver thought it was a good one: Get Laurel away from the champagne and to the buffet.  
  
But Laurel didn't agree, “I'm good, thank you. Ollie, you didn't answer my question. You spontaneously proposed, because it felt right to you?”  
  
Oliver knew who he was talking to here. He was talking to the woman he had fled from when she had wanted commitment. When she had wanted to move in with him, he had taken her sister on a cruise. Settling down had seemed like such a bad idea to him that he had done the most horrible thing to distance himself from her in every way possible.  
  
He had spent many nights on the island thinking about how he had wronged Laurel and that his own commitment issues were basically the reason why he had ended up there. He had lain on the hard ground with nothing but his thoughts to keep him warm. Looking back, he knew that in those dark times he had not imagined the real Laurel, but a glorified vision of the one that had gotten away because he had pushed her. He hadn't really remembered her, but dreamed her up. It had taken Oliver more than a year to truly admit that to himself and to accept that she wasn't who he remembered – just like he wasn't who she believed to know.  
  
Oliver knew that the island had clouded his feelings in the first year he had been back in Starling. His guilty conscience had made him want to make things up to her. He had held on to her, when in reality he had let her go before he had even boarded this damn yacht. Pre-island-Oliver may have been a dick, but he had a reason for not wanting to move in with Laurel – and that went beyond fearing the end of his playboy-lifestyle. Post-island-Oliver knew; had dared to accept the truth. Laurel had never been the one for him. He wished her all the best, he still cared for her deeply, he hated seeing her like this, but all that didn't change one fact, she wasn't the one he wanted.  
  
And he knew that he wasn't the one Laurel wanted either. She had chosen Tommy over him and with good reason. Maybe it was nostalgia that made her act like this, mixing with the alcohol and whatever else that had turned her into a drunk lately, but he knew that this wasn't about him. Not really.  
  
Knowing all these things and knowing how this would sound and seem to her, he answered her question. “I did. It did feel right.”  
  
Laurel pursed her lips, annoyed. “That's just great.” She emptied her glass. “Good for you two. I wish you all the best.” She looked at Oliver now, “You should get a pre-nup. Knowing your track-record and all.”  
  
Oliver straightened up now. There was only one reaction to the last sentence, ignore it. “We should get you home.”  
  
“I don't want to go home. Now I want to eat. Where's the buffet?” With that Laurel turned around and headed away.  
  
“Wow, she will have a field day when we don't actually get married.”  
  
Oliver looked at Felicity who still stood next to him, locking uncomfortable. Not knowing what to say to that, he followed Laurel with his eyes, watching as she swayed past the presented food with a plate in her hand. “We should really get her home.”  
  
“I'm not an expert on these things,” Felicity admitted now, “but I'm pretty sure that ex-girlfriends are not supposed to come to engagement parties – especially if they're still single. I would never go to one of one of my exes. Not even Nick Harwell's – and we had a very good break-up. As good as a break-up can ever be. It's never the best thing to happen, I guess...”  
  
“It was my fault.” Suddenly, Thea suddenly popped up next to them. “I never thought it would be a problem. I mean, Ollie, you and her are friends. And I thought it would be worse not to invite her.”  
  
“Oh my God.” Felicity's gasp caused Oliver to turn his attention away from his sister and onto her. She was still staring ahead to where Laurel had gone and as he now looked into the same direction as her, her reaction suddenly made absolute sense to him. Because right now Laurel Lance was sitting down – next to Donna Smoak and Moira Queen. Oliver cringed inwardly, but couldn't help but feel like Felicity's next sentence was a little exaggerated, “That's the worst thing that could happen.”  
  
He reached for Felicity's arm, “Let's get something to eat.”  
  
She didn't bulge, but instead stared at him, “You want to go there? Are you crazy! That's a time bomb waiting to explode and normal people run _away_ from the ticking-” She stopped herself when she realized who she was talking to. “Never mind, let's go.”  
  
Oliver didn't really care what he picked as he filled his plate up with random things. He wasn't really hungry, all he needed from his buffet was an excuse to join the...  
  
“Off to the table of doom.”  
  
You had to give it to Felicity; she may consider the alphabet a hindrance from time to time, but she was really good with words.  
  
Together they walked to the dreaded table. “Oliver,” Moira greeted her son with a smile. “I was just asking where you were.”  
  
“He had to leave, to go to work, at his engagement party.” Donna accentuated every part of this sentence. As if the look she was sending him didn't make it clear enough that she was not exactly pleased with him. “Where I come from, when a man has to work late there's usually a sexy secretary involved.”  
  
“Then Felicity doesn't have to worry, she's Ollie's secretary after all.” Laurel had organized herself another glass of champagne and was taking a sip so big that it was quite a mouthful.  
  
“Executive Assistant,” Felicity corrected automatically.  
  
“Sexy Executive Assistant,” Thea winked as she sat down next to her. “I thought I'd join you since you all seemed to be having such a GOOD time.”  
  
Moira, being the professional small-talker she was, decided this was the right moment to switch topics, “Felicity, have you already decided on a date?”  
  
Felicity frowned, “A date for what?”  
  
Moira looked at her, “A date for the wedding, of course.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Oliver chose to just answer, “No, we haven't.”  
  
“You should start with the planning soon. A good wedding needs twelve to fifteen month to prepare.”  
  
“Not in Vegas,” Donna added.  
  
“We will not be getting married in Vegas,” Felicity objected instantly.  
  
“Why not,” the food on Laurel's plate was still untouched but her glass was already worryingly empty, “seems like your mom could organize you a discount?”  
  
Oliver let his eyes wander over the females around him and tried to decide whose two heads to bang together first. The adrenaline he had ridden on during his jump from a rooftop and a very quick fight hadn't dissolved yet – despite his best efforts – and he didn't need a bitchy catfight under the guise of a forced dinner conversation.  
  
“Did you decide on a venue yet?” Moira was still all poise.  
  
“No.” Felicity looked very uncomfortable. Oliver honestly felt sorry for her and decided that she wasn't part of the females he felt like slapping right now.  
  
“Don't worry.” Thea said now. “I'll help you with the planning. I'll make sure that yours doesn't end up like the Red Wedding – even though, judging by the way this party is going right now...”  
  
Oliver frowned at his sister, “Red Wedding?”  
  
“Seriously?” Felicity stared at him. “You haven't heard about the Red Wedding? Oliver, everybody has heard about that. Even Thea. And if there's one person who's not a suspect of being a nerd it's her.”  
  
He shrugged, wordlessly indicating his non-understanding.  
  
“It's from Game of Thrones, a TV-show,” Felicity said and waited to see if recognition crossed his face. It didn't. “It's a big hit. And you have no excuse to not know about it since it started _after_ you came back from the island.”  
  
Oliver was very aware of the shock suddenly filling the air. The island was something that wasn't discussed around him. He was very sure that every person sitting at this table – maybe excluding Donna – wondered about the island, but Felicity had been the first one to ever bring it up not by asking what had happened but by joking about it, hinting at his lack of Facebook when he had been there. Felicity was the only one present who really knew what the island meant, how it had changed him, and it made sense for her to bring it up so casually. It was okay for her to do so. But ONLY for her.  
  
Which was why he decided to keep this conversation going, to somewhere other than the island. “What about the excuse that you obviously watched it without me?”  
  
This now caught Felicity by surprise. She looked at him, and he could see that she needed a moment to grasp the situation. When she did, she swallowed, “You're right. I will help you catch up on your pop culture references.”  
  
“Thank you,” Oliver said, glad that they had managed to deflect people's attention. He glanced back at Thea, “But I take it a Red Wedding is something Felicity and I should try to avoid.”  
  
“Well, yeah,” Thea stated now. “If you're not into the sudden de-”  
  
That was the moment Felicity's hand covered Thea's mouth, “Oliver said he wants to watch it. Don't spoiler him!”  
  
A grin became visible on Thea's face when Felicity let her hand sink again, but it turned into a frown moments later, “I meant to ask you, what's with all this formality? Oliver, Felicity. What happened to using nicknames, Ollie?”  
  
“We don't do nicknames.”  
  
Thea looked at her brother. “Oh, really?”  
  
“Really.”  
  
“I think you should loosen up.” Thea turned to Felicity. “Everybody called him Ollie before...” She stopped herself, looking awkward for letting the conversation go in this direction yet again.  
  
Felicity on the other hand was unfazed, yet again. “I didn't know Oliver before the island.”  
  
Oliver looked at her and couldn't help the teasing smile that appeared on his face. “You didn't miss much. I'm more interesting since I returned.”  
  
Her eyes shone with amusement as hers met his. “I'm sure you are.”  
  
Oliver dared to let himself enjoy this moment that was strangely private in a very public setting. He felt everybody's eyes on him and thought about reaching for Felicity's hand that rested next to her plate on the table, but decided against touching for effect. Especially since it wasn't JUST for effect. And right in that moment it hit him-  
  
“Great,” Laurel noisily pushed her chair back. “That's my cue!”  
  
She was walking away in the next moment, when Donna snorted behind her. “Thank God. Normally drunks are more fun than that bitch.”  
  
“Mom!”  
  
Oliver tuned out whatever Felicity felt like telling her mother and whatever his own mother added to that, because all his brain capacity was needed to process one shocking realization: He had kissed Felicity's temple. And he had not thought twice about it. Until now.

 


	8. Wrecking Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really excited that you guys enjoyed the last chapter. It was certainly fun writing it. ;-) Thank you all so very much for your nice comments. It was really awesome to read your thoughts on what was going on. I have the feeling that you will have some thoughts on this chapter as well... I would most certainly love to hear (read) them. Okay, let's move this plot forward...
> 
> Thanks to my beta Gina for fixing my grammar.

**8\. Wrecking Ball (Miley Cyrus)  
  
** Felicity Smoak wasn't a virgin. She had been touched before and had done various kinds of touching herself. Her sexual experience spread from the unskilled humping Craig Riddlemeyer had done – which had seriously made Felicity consider why there was so much fuss about _that_ – to the very experienced hands of Andrew Weaver, who she probably should consider a drunken mistake during her first months in Starling City... But, really, he was one of the men that proved to women that the fuss was more than justified. In short, Felicity knew what sex could and could not be, and she wasn't a girl who let her whole world be rocked by one kiss that fit every standard of being appropriate for all audiences.  
  
Still – she was taking an inappropriate amount of time to dwell on one very chaste kiss.  
  
Just because it had been so unexpected and so uncharacteristic. It had been a sweet kiss. Now, Felicity would use a big variety of adjectives to describe Oliver Queen, but “sweet” really, really wasn't one of them. Neither was cute. Nor any of these sugar coated teenager words. That just wasn't him at all.  
  
That still didn't change the fact that it had been a sweet kiss.  
  
And right in that moment it had been a statement. A statement that Felicity had appreciated. Because Oliver had come and kissed her temple when Laurel had been standing there being all judgmental and in her face and... Felicity really hated agreeing with her mother, but Laurel had been a _bitch_. All of this combined had made Felicity's heart do an unexpected jump when Oliver's lips had sweetly touched her skin. She had needed to fight really hard to keep from grinning stupidly. Oliver on the other hand had acted completely unfazed, like it was the most normal thing in the world for him to do this.  
  
Felicity had spent an embarrassing amount of time to think about that and had come to realize that Oliver probably acted this unfazed, because to him it wasn't a big deal. And it shouldn't be. It was a harmless kiss on a harmless spot and it could count as a friendly gesture.  
  
If friendly gestures like this were part of the friendship she shared with Oliver.  
  
Which they were _not_!  
  
They had very clear rules for touching, and they basically came down to two ground rules: one, in life-or-death-situations anything goes; two, if life is not threatened, touching should be avoided or kept to neutral spots like arms or shoulders.  
  
These rules had been blurred a lot lately. With the fake engagement and everything people obviously expected more physical contact. That had been limited to holding hands and the occasional hand on the back as Oliver directed her toward a dance floor or a chair or into a room.  
  
And now there was this kiss on the temple.  
  
Which was for show.  
  
Felicity knew.  
  
It still drove her crazy.  
  
Because it had been nice. It had been nice when he had come back from the Vertigo-alert, which had turned out to be a fake Vertigo-alert, and they had tackled this engagement party together. A party that just proved that there was too much faking in her life. Like a fake engagement that was met by fake politeness that had turned from passive aggressive –which was the well-mannered version of speaking your mind – to openly hostile within thirty minutes. The open hostility had mainly been her mother's fault, but she had never been well-mannered to begin with.  
  
In theory that should have been awful. In practice it had been nice to do this with Oliver, because it had felt like they had teamed up against the crazy that had been happening around them. They had been a unit with a silent understanding that had come from Felicity knowing things the other people around didn't – and that had been strangely amazing. Normally, it was nerve-wrecking to cover for Oliver and the stuff he secretly did, but it had been different when they had sat there at this table surrounded by clueless people. That had been nice.  
  
Felicity had never dared to imagine what it would be like to really _be_ with Oliver. But Friday evening she had experienced it – and she wanted it to be like that again.  
  
And that made her miserable, because she knew she couldn't have it. The silent understanding, the kiss on the temple, the support when other girls were bitches to her – that was all just for show, because CEO Oliver Queen needed to be responsible and settle down. And because the Arrow needed his research-girl.  
  
The latter was unfair, Felicity knew. Those were just her hurt feelings and unfulfilled hopes talking. She knew that Oliver liked her. She was just bitter, because he didn't _like her_ like her. And – yes – she knew those were the same words, but they meant something different in her head.  
  
But she knew that could never happen, because she was so not Oliver's type. The historic records had proven that. First, he liked brunettes. There had been McKenna, the detective, who had been so beautiful and so driven. Helena, who – granted – was crazy, but shared Oliver's love for leather and the ability to look stunning in it. The same was true for Sara, who wasn't brunette but gorgeous and able to kick some serious ass. And, of course, there was Laurel, whose brown hair was so shiny and pretty and who was not only unfairly good-looking despite her obvious inability to resist the allure of unflattering business suits with ill-fitting pants, but also a successful career-woman. Even though she was trying to sabotage the latter by bottle service.  
  
Felicity knew those were catty thoughts, but Laurel wasn't around to witness them – and unlike Laurel, Felicity would never say anything mean directly to her face.  
  
She wasn't like Laurel or any of these women, who were women to take charge. Felicity didn't take charge. She much too often let other people call the shots – the fact that she was sitting at her desk posing as an Executive Assistant, which she hated, was proof enough for that. She was a push-over – and Oliver didn't like the damsel in distress, he liked women who could clean up their own messes.  
  
“What's with the long face?”  
  
Startled, Felicity's head snapped up, away from the computer screen she had been looking at without really seeing it and toward Thea, who was standing in front of her desk. Felicity blinked. “I wasn't thinking about how Laurel is much prettier than me.” That was an incredibly stupid thing to say. It was an incredibly stupid thing, that once again showed how little she was meant to take charge.  
  
The grin on Thea's face made Felicity feel the need to bury her head in her hands. Thea simply ignored the last sentence spoken and instead said, “Have lunch with me.”  
  
“I can't,” Felicity stated and let her hands drop again. “I need to finish this.” More like start with this chart to be done with the most pressing work at QC to be able to head to the Foundry to start collecting the security footage Oliver needed.  
  
“Felicity, you're the fiancée of the boss of all...” she twirled her index finger around, “this. You can take a lunch break with the girl whose name is written on top of this building.”  
  
“Wow.” Felicity stared at the other girl. “That was an incredibly brazen thing to say. But you pulled it off really well.”  
  
“I know. It's a gift. And on my way up I used it on a redhead who bad-mouthed you in the elevator. I'm pretty sure it was that Ginger you told me about.”  
  
“What did she say?” Inwardly Felicity cringed. She shouldn’t have asked that, she shouldn’t care, a take-charge-women wouldn't care. Yet, sadly, she did.  
  
“Some comment about people interpreting the recording all wrong. She said it was obvious that you weren't talking about a real engagement but about finding a good place for a nookie.”  
  
“Nobody calls it nookie anymore. That's so last decade.” Why, God, _why_ , was that the first thing she felt like saying to this?  
  
“Exactly. That's why I told ginger she should stop talking bullshit about people who could get her fired.” Thea looked deadly serious as she said, “You should get her fired. “ Seeing the look on the blonde's face, Thea sighed, “I know, I know... But she'd deserve it, not only for being a bitch, but for being stupid. I mean, she should really check who else is in the elevator with her before she starts gossiping – no matter how many people are cramped in that tiny space.”  
  
“In her defense, she couldn't possibly know you were in there. This is only the second time I know of that you are at QC in, like, ever.”  
  
“Felicity, why are you defending her?”  
  
Felicity's shoulders sank. “I don't know.”  
  
Thea just nodded. “Get up. Have lunch with me.”

 

*******

 

This was the reason why Thea was so skinny: She had sushi for lunch. It was low-fat, low-calorie, high-protein and incredibly trendy. To Felicity it was nothing but cold fish, which she hated. That left her very little choice at this spot where the food was rolling by on a conveyer and drinks were served in the most unnatural colors. Felicity had believed spots like that to be out of fashion again. Proving how little she knew.  
  
Thea's voice ripped her out of her thoughts, “Okay, stop thinking about how Laurel is prettier than you, because that's bullshit.”  
  
“I wasn't thinking about that!” Felicity defended and when she saw Thea's disbelieving face she added, “I was thinking about how much I'd prefer a pizza to any of this and that that is part of the reason why I'll never be a size 0 like other people. FYI, the other parts of this reason are called muffin and mint choc chip ice-cream.”  
  
“Laurel isn't a size 0 because she avoids pizza, but because she's living off champagne and vodka at the moment, which are both low-fat, but will eventually still make her look bloated.”  
  
“Wow.” Felicity again couldn't believe her ears.  
  
“It's your fault,” Thea defended. “When you're so nice, it makes me be mean for the both of us. And I normally even like Laurel. Even though I was never anything more than Ollie's little sister to her.”  
  
A moment of silence followed. Felicity used it to wonder when exactly she had turned into such a punching bag, even worse, into such an insecure punching bag, because this wasn't her. Felicity wasn't insecure, she wasn't unsure about herself, she knew very well who she was and who she wasn't and she had always been confident. Never had she been afraid to speak her mind, never had she apologized for who she was, she had always been fine with herself, her socially awkward, tech-smart self. She needed to get back to that. She wouldn't let anybody or anything take that from her: not her difficult mother, not pretty ex-girlfriends and especially not the fact that she was in love with a man who had basically told her that he was afraid to care too much.  
  
She looked at Thea. “I'm not normally like this, you know.”  
  
“I know. I spent a drunken night with you and I know that normally you are much more fun than this.” Thea placed her elbows on the counter in front of her while she kept looking at Felicity. “But I noticed that something was off about you after your run-in with Laurel. I know that their history can be intimidating. But that's what it is, history. Oliver is with you now.”  
  
No, he _wasn't_! Not really. And the fact that he lied to Laurel – who Felicity knew was the love of his life, that had kept him going on the island and wherever else he was during those five years – about how it felt right to be with Felicity didn't change that, _at all_. In fact, it only made it worse. But those were things that Thea didn't know, wasn't allowed to know, because this was a secret she was keeping, one of the many secrets she kept when it came to Oliver Queen and the many characters he incorporated into himself.  
  
Felicity swallowed. “I know,” she lied. “It was just a stressful evening.”  
  
“You and Oliver are made for each other. Everybody who sat at this table saw that.”  
  
Everybody but Oliver.  
  
Felicity tried a small smile. “Thank you.” Really, she was thankful. “You really didn't need to come down and try to cheer me up.”  
  
“Of course I did! I may have been drunk, but I remember that we promised each other to be besties. I intent to keep that promise.” Thea smirked, “not only, because I think you're amazing and very entertaining with all that word-vomit you're rocking,” she softened this sentence with a wink, “but also because you make my brother smile. It's such a rare occurrence that I notice every time he does. And he does that a lot around you.”  
  
“It's the word-vomit I'm rocking. Being amused by it seems to run in the family – which is really fortunate.”  
  
“That might be part of it, yes, but I think there's more to it.” Thea turned serious. “Does he talk to you about the island?”  
  
Felicity felt instantly uneasy, she shifted on her high chair. Her voice was careful as she said, “He told me a few things, yes.”  
  
“And what few things would that be?” Thea inquired.  
  
“A few things that aren't mine to tell you.”  
  
Thea's eyes narrowed at Felicity, before they returned to normal. “Fair enough,” she sighed, “damn you! You're so trustworthy and reliable. Makes me want to be your friend even more!”  
  
Felicity knew that it was supposed to be a light joke, but she didn't feel like smiling. She remembered the night when Sara had returned too clearly. She remembered the look on Oliver's face, a mixture of hurt and despair, when he had yelled at Diggle and her that his time away had been five years in which nothing good had happened. It had given Felicity a glimpse at the horror he had lived through and had made her realize that the whole extent of the terror he had locked up inside him most likely topped everything she could ever imagine. She knew a few things, yes, but there was so much more she had no idea about. They were the things that Oliver had survived and that had changed him and made him stronger. He still considered these experiences a weakness – and Felicity would never go and share this alleged weakness with anybody that Oliver obviously wanted to keep from finding out.  
  
Searchingly, Thea looked at Felicity, studying the expressions that crossed her face. “I'm just glad that he has somebody he feels like he can confide in.”  
  
Felicity nodded, because that much was true; even if she wasn't Oliver's girlfriend, would never be his real fiancée, she was still his confidant. That was a very special someone to be in the life of Oliver Queen. She would just have to accept that that was all she'd ever be and start feeling like it was enough, because it had to be.

 

*******

 

Computers were the perfect distraction. The last time Felicity had looked at a clock had been three hours ago. She hadn't even noticed time passing as she had first gotten the security footage Oliver had asked her to gather. She had checked the various recordings only to find nothing but the guy, Thomas Elliot, who Oliver had caught last night on the scene, placing the canister in the middle of the plaza. This had caused Felicity to once again hack into SCPD's servers – Kelton would never learn – to get information on Elliot and the findings concerning the orange gas that had been sprayed.  
  
The guys would never appreciate how much time and effort it took to gather all the facts she always offered them, but she was used to that by now. Now, three hours later, as Oliver and Diggle walked down the stairs she was ready to update them.  
  
Oliver must sense this by the way she was watching them walk toward her. “You found something.” It was a statement, not a question.  
  
Still, Felicity answered it, “I did.” Both men looked at her expectantly and Felicity just continued talking. “The security videos, whose quality is awful by the way; even my phone can record in HD, so it makes absolutely no sense that these recordings are always black and white and blurry.” Oliver raised his eyebrows, Diggle smirked, Felicity took the hints and got back to the point, “So, the footage was a fail. The only suspicious person on that was the guy who was arrested, Thomas Elliot. Oh, and there was a hodded guy with a bow recklessly jumping down a four-story building. Wouldn't want to meet _him_ in a dark alley.”  
  
“You said you found something.”  
  
“Yes, I did.” She turned back to her screens and felt the men move to stand left and right to her to get a good look themselves. “Thomas Elliot gave SCPD a statement which I'm pretty sure would have made them transfer him to Starling's asylum, if it hadn't burnt down recently. He claimed that he was chosen for this mission by the big Scarecrow, the master and bringer of fear. Sounds pretty much like a hillbilly-cult to me.”  
  
“He was acting on somebody else's orders?” Oliver asked from her left.  
  
Diggle nodded from her right, “makes sense. Elliot is more a follower than a leader.” He pointed at the screen and a file Felicity had pulled up there. “Look here, he managed to get into Stanford, but there he got arrested for stalking some poor girl. And he himself filed a complaint against some guy who he claimed robbed him, before he ultimately dropped out.”  
  
“I know,” Felicity agreed, “not the super-villain type. But look at this. Elliot studied psychology at Stanford, and he went to a class where the teacher fired a gun. That teacher was later fired for doing that and that teacher was...”  
  
“Dr. Jonathan Crane,” Oliver guessed correctly.  
  
“Okay,” Diggle straightened up. “I was skeptical before, but consider me converted. Crane is somehow the key to all of this.”  
  
“Yeah,” Felicity nodded. “He seems like the super-villain type. And look at the class Crane taught, 'The Foundation of Fear – Phobia 101'.” She glanced at Diggle, “and I thought 'Theory of Computation' was bad.”  
  
“So what?” Diggle looked at the two others. “This guy is into fear?”  
  
“It would make sense. He sure scared everybody with that gas canister. And the video that Burton got with his wife and son was pretty hard to watch.” Felicity shuddered at the memory, before she looked at the men. “A psychiatrist going crazy – that's hardly unique.”  
  
“And it doesn't give us the slightest clue where to find him.” Oliver's voice was hard.  
  
“Okay, before you go all grrr on us again, I have more.” Felicity pulled up more documents that probably meant nothing to Oliver. “The orange stuff that was sprayed last night was nothing but colored dry ice.”  
  
“That guy sure likes to make a show,” Diggle huffed.  
  
“Yes. But he also left a trace with this one. Because dry ice was reported stolen from Starling City's community college – seriously there's nothing this city doesn't have. The Chemistry Department was apparently robbed of all the dry ice needed for their big show on science day. So I checked the college's files. I know you don't care about how I did this, but it was really hard to get this information and it involved two federal offenses until I found student Elliot Thomas...” She pulled up a student ID which showed the picture of a man that didn't look much better than the mug shot that was taken Friday night. “You have to give it up for the man with the most obvious alias ever.”  
  
Oliver looked at her. “And this is helpful, how?”  
  
“Because I never found an address of Thomas Elliot, but Elliot Thomas has a small apartment in the Glades. Maybe, you'll find something there. When he was arrested Elliot didn't have a phone with him. And I don't care, if you're into some Hillbilly-cult believing in the big Scarecrow, today a cell is a basic necessity.”  
  
“He must have been in contact with Crane some way,” Diggle supported. “And if he's a student, he has a laptop.”  
  
Oliver was already moving, “I'll check his apartment and gather whatever I can find that might help us track him down.”  
  
Felicity followed him with her eyes as he walked toward his Arrow-clothes, and for the first time in quite a few days she felt a sense of accomplishment. She felt like herself again. Because this here, this was Felicity Smoak. This was Felicity Smoak kicking serious ass. And she seriously needed to remember that, because everything else was just make-believe and colored smoke-screens.

 

*******

 

Felicity should have known her high wouldn't last. She should have known that something would rain on her parade of feeling awesome. And that something came in the form of an unexpected call from Moira, who was trying Felicity's cell in search for Oliver.  
  
Since she could hardly tell Moira Queen that her son was busy breaking and entering, she instead invented a conference call with Shanghai. That just seemed a more appropriate way for a CEO to spend his Monday evening. Sadly, this exact CEO was expected to spend his Monday evening with his mother and about 150 of her closest friends to celebrate her decision to run for mayor. And – Moira was convinced that Oliver had surely told Felicity – she was also expected to be there to show support for her future family.  
  
Of course, Oliver had not told her anything; neither that Moira thought about becoming mayor, nor that she was expected to support this decision – which she _didn't_. Technically, this woman should be in jail for mass-murder. But what did Felicity Smoak know about politics? Maybe that qualified Moira even more for a political job.  
  
Not even the mention of her own mother and the evening they had planned to spend together – which was the only true thing Felicity had said during this whole conversation with Moira – could spare Felicity. She was expected to make an appearance, even if it only was for one hour, and she was expected to tell Oliver to hurry with his conference call.  
  
Felicity was not in the mood to fight. She felt exhausted and she felt like she had been robbed of the fun aspects of a relationship that normally should make up for the crappy duties with the in-laws, which seemed to be disproportionately many when it came to the Queens and their social standing. But there was no use in fighting the inevitable. It was just a waste of time. To make it quick, Felicity simply informed Oliver where she was going and where he was supposed to be ASAP, ignored Diggle's knowing glance, went to her beloved Mini Cooper and drove to a house that was a mansion and honestly intimidated her.  
  
As she handed the maid her red coat she realized that she had never been here on her own before. Slightly unsure, she walked toward the living room which had been cleared of all furniture and instead been equipped with a bar and a band. Tentatively, she put one foot in front of the other as she entered the room and glanced around. She felt interested eyes on her, but was glad when she saw Thea and Roy standing in a corner. She had taken two steps toward them, when Moira popped up in front of her. “Felicity, I'm glad you could make it.”  
  
“Of course,” Felicity answered and returned Moira's fake kisses, feeling incredibly stupid.  
  
“I need to introduce you to Beth Weinstein, she's the chairwoman of the Starling City Women's Charity Association.”  
  
Felicity frowned, “What about the Starling City Women's Federation?”  
  
Moira looked at Felicity like she had grown a second head. “They kicked me out and denied Thea membership. We'll take our name, our money and our connections elsewhere.”  
  
Hearing this, Felicity automatically straightened up, “Got'cha.”  
  
Moira linked her arm with Felicity's and led her across the room to an elderly woman in a teal colored outfit. “Beth,” Moira said when they reached her, “let me introduce you to my future daughter-in law.” Hearing this caused a sinking feeling in Felicity's stomach. It was so strange to hear it, it sounded so wrong. Probably because it just was. However Felicity tried to keep a smile on her face. She needed to get better with that polite smile thing all the other Queens had perfected. Not that she was a Queen, but... She just had to get better at faking it. Moira was still at it, “This is Felicity, Oliver's fiancée.”  
  
“It's very nice to meet you, ma'am.”  
  
“Oh, the pleasure is all mine,” Beth Weinstein answered. “I heard so much about you. You made quite the impression at the historians' gala.”  
  
“Thank you...” Felicity glanced at Moira, who gave her nothing, “I guess...”  
  
“Let me have a look at your ring, dear!”  
  
“I-”  
  
“Oliver gave her his grandmother's ring, but it's too small. It needs to be widened.” Of course! Moira would come up with a lie that would end up with Felicity having fat fingers.  
  
“Oh, that's lovely,” Beth gushed now. “A family heirloom,” she glanced around the room. “Where is Oliver?”  
  
“Still working,” Moira answered the question directed at Felicity, “you know how it is with successful men.”  
  
“Oh, yes! I do. My Gregory worked long, long hours. I rarely had him home on weekends.”  
  
“I try to be around more.” Out of the blue, Oliver appeared next to Felicity. He sent the women a small smile. Part of Felicity dreaded another kiss, part of her longed for it. She was aghast and happy at the same time, when his lips really brushed her right cheek. It was another harmless gesture that made her knees weak. Was he turning this into a habit? Because she could get used to it. Even though, she shouldn't. She really, really shouldn't.  
  
Beth Weinstein was busy complimenting Moira on her handsome son, before telling Felicity she had made quite a catch. Felicity didn't know what to say to that and decided to just practice her fake smiling.  
  
“I think I'm the one who's lucky,” Oliver said in that moment.  
  
That was a really corny statement. A statement that had the potential to make Felicity swoon. But it didn't. There was no love-struck smile appearing on her face. Instead, she had to fight to keep the fake one in place. Because the words might have been nice and swoon-worthy, but Oliver had said them in CEO-voice. That was the voice he used when he thanked journalists for including QC in a story, when he hated nothing more than giving interviews. That was the voice he used when he talked to Dent Bradfort, who he despised with all he had. That was the voice he used to negotiate business contracts. That was the voice he used to surround himself with an air of polite aloofness, of impersonal professionalism. It was all fake. As fake as the smile on Felicity's face that was slipping more and more.  
  
She suffered through another twenty minutes of polite small-talk with various members of Starling City's one percent, before she found a good moment to excuse herself and flee the mansion. Oliver being all in character instantly offered to escort her to her car.  
  
The front door closed behind them, and Felicity enjoyed the fresh night air hitting her face. It had been suffocating in there, both literally with a serious lack of oxygen in the air and figuratively with Oliver's closeness limiting her ability to breathe freely.  
  
She glanced quickly at Oliver, avoiding eye-contact she said, “My mom's waiting. Good night.”  
  
She was about to head down the stairs and to her car, when Oliver's hand reached for her arm and stopped her. “Felicity, what is going on with you? And don't say...”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“...nothing!” He sighed. “The truth, please!”  
  
He wanted the truth?! Okay, he could have that! She twirled around to face him, her voice harsh, and said, “We had rules, Oliver!”  
  
He frowned. “Rules about what?”  
  
“About us.” His face fell, she could see it. She could see emotions he usually buried deep show themselves – and they weren't happy ones. But she couldn't stop. She had started talking and it somehow reminded Felicity that she was a talker, and she felt like saying some things right now, “We had rules about what we are and what we aren't. And about what we do and don't do! We don't just go around and kiss each other – and I know that to you those may have been non-kisses, but for me they were something. For me they crossed a line. And I know we never talked about it, but I know we both know that line was there. And when it was, it was good for me. I could work with that. I could accept that you basically told me you preferred easy one night-stands to real caring – even though, you later went and started caring about Sara for some time. But I knew where I stood, Oliver. I was here and you were there and that line was between us. But now everything's blurry, and I don't know where I'm at. I'm all over the place.” She felt her eyes water, but fought to not let the tears fall. It was bad enough that she unloaded all her frustrations of these last weeks on him in one giant rant, revealing things she had never wanted to reveal. “I cannot keep that up, Oliver. Pretending to be something that I'm not no matter how much I wished...” She swallowed, she would not admit _that_. Instead she said, “We need to end this, we need to fake a break-up. You have to get a new secretary. I'm sorry. I really am. I'll help you with your other stuff, but I need some space. I need some space from you.”  
  
Realizing that she couldn't hold the tears back much longer, she turned around and started walking.  
  
She heard him mumble “it's Executive Assistant,” under his breath, but not even that could stop her from hurrying to her car. She had to get away from here. Away from him.

 


	9. Blame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know, normally, this is the part where I should let you stew for a week and use the cliffhanger to the fullest. But your amazing comments got me so excited that I want to thank you for all the love and support with an update, because it's the only way I know how to give back. Thank you all so very much. I hope you enjoy this.
> 
> Again: Gina was nice enough to fix my typos. :-)

**9\. Blame (Calvin Harris feat John Goodman)  
  
** The sight of her empty desk really drove the point home. She had left him.  
  
The paper coffee cup in his hand proved that he had dared to hope. Now it was just mocking him.  
  
He felt like tightening his hand into a fist to crush the stupid thing. But he didn't. Because the coffee was hot, his dress shirt was white and because he was in control of his emotions when he was CEO. The Arrow may go and randomly put arrows through the legs of teenage-boys that annoyed him, but he wasn't that man right now. This man took a sip of the latte he had originally bought for Felicity and headed into his office, just to seem unaffected to anybody who might be watching.  
  
It was a bad act. Of course all of this affected him. Even worse, her not being at her desk had really unsettled him. And that was RIDICULOUS! It was as ridiculous as being left by a girl who wasn't really with him to begin with. It was a fake break-up to end a fake relationship and it should mean NOTHING!  
  
Sadly, it meant that his days of fooling himself were up. He could no longer fool himself into believing that nothing had changed between them, into believing that he had it under control, into believing that he might get away with letting the woman he cared about a lot believe that he didn't care as much. He wished he could hit somebody, destroy something, let his frustrations out. He wished he could fill that emptiness inside him with anger. But the only one he could be angry at was himself. He had nobody to blame but himself. He had let this whole thing get out of hand, had let other people take control over his life, he had been the one to blur the lines.  
  
Felicity had been right; they had had this unspoken agreement – and he had gone and broken it without one word. He had done this consciously. Because the first time may have been an “accident”, but the second kiss on the cheek had been him pushing the limits of what was smart. It was a small thing, but Felicity had been right fucking once again when she had said that between them even this little thing was too much. He had been giving in to a feeling and to doing what felt right for him.  
  
And that had unsettled Felicity more than any near-death-experience had.  
  
Never had he seen her like that, that distressed. Her voice had shaken, vibrating with the tears that had collected in her eyes, her hands had been shaking.  
  
He had seen Felicity in various states of anguish: after her run-in with Helena, after he had pulled her off a landmine, after they had jumped out of a window on the 33rd floor, after the Count had held a potentially deadly syringe to her neck – to name just the ones that came to him off the top of his head. And because of these experiences he knew that Felicity could pull herself together really well, she could keep her nerves in check. Last night she had failed to do that. And that had, in return, shaken Oliver to his core.  
  
How – the hell – had he ended up like this? This weak and confused and distracted! This wasn't him. He wasn't like this. He hated being like this. He hated being the weak one. He hated that it hadn't been HIM who had ended this. Because it was right to end this. Felicity had done what he should have done weeks ago, but had been too weak to do. He had dared to let so many emotions out and it had blinded him.  
  
Of course, he blamed that on John Diggle completely.  
  
Now he had to go and pick up the pieces. He had to find a way to fix this into something that both he and Felicity could work with, he had to draw the line back on the ground and get back to what and where they had been.  
  
He knew she was interested; he was neither stupid nor blind.  
  
He knew he was interested.  
  
He also knew it could never work. He would end up hurting her, pulling her down with him. He was wrong for her. He would do what was right and stop this before he would really go too far.  
  
If he was a bigger man, he would let her go completely, would tell her that it was better, if they went their separate ways. She would keep his secret, he knew, and she could go and find happiness away from the danger. Maybe that was the best he could do. He needed to finally be a bigger man. It would be hard without her, without her expertise, her computer-knowledge, her ability to find a simple answer to even the most difficult questions and her ability to find lightness in the darkest situations. They would never be able to replace her, but he needed to stop being so goddamn selfish and think about her first, for once.  
  
It was better to cut ties than to draw invisible lines that were too easy to overstep.  
  
He felt the weight of his decision pulling him down. It was hard, but it was the right thing.  
  
“You think you're hot shit, don't you? Well, let me tell you! Scratch the 'hot' and you're pretty close to the truth!”  
  
His head snapped toward the door and his eyes landed on Donna Smoak. Her jeans skirt was too short, her white blouse was opened a button too many, her shoes had ridiculously high platform heels, but her hands were placed on her hips and with the angry scowl on her face she looked like a platinum-blond avenger of the distressed. Her sudden appearance shocked him so much that he could do nothing but stare at her. She marched toward him and the sound of her heels clicking on the floor reminded him too much of her daughter to help him find his equilibrium. She placed both her hands on his desk and glowered at him, “What did you do, dickhead?”  
  
Now THERE was the anger to fill the emptiness. He pushed his chair back forcefully as he got up. “I didn’t do anything!” He straightened up to his full height, glaring down at the blond woman in his best intimidating stance.  
  
Like her daughter Donna refused to be intimidated, “Then why did I spent the night consoling my crying daughter? The last time I saw Lizzy like this was when she thought that she wouldn't get into MIT.” She raised an accusing index finger at the taller man, “My daughter may not have been raised with golden spoons or wiped her ass with dollar notes, but she is worth more than any one of your lot! She worked hard for everything she has, she has nothing to apologize for. I might only be a stupid high-school drop-out waitressing in Vegas, but even I know that you won't ever find nobody better than my baby!”  
  
“I know that!”  
  
“Oh, you _know_ that! Then why, Mr. Know-it-all, are you acting like an asshole?!”  
  
Reminding himself that he didn't hit women who wouldn't hit back – even though, he wasn't so sure where Donna Smoak was concerned – he forced himself to unclench his fists again. He pressed the next words out, “It was your daughter who broke up with me.”  
  
“I didn't see you at her doorstep last night, begging her to take you back!” She crossed her arms over her chest, “Or did I miss you?”  
  
Oliver just glared at her. He was glad that the desk was separating them.  
  
Donna, on the other hand, looked unaffected, like she was just getting started. “My baby doesn't need you and your money and your dinner parties and your judgmental mother. My baby doesn't need a guy who invites his ex-girlfriend to his engagement party to show her what he had before. Is that what you really want? That skinny bitch?”  
  
“I don’t want anybody but Felicity.”  
  
He had practically spat it at her. It was hardly a romantic declaration of love, but it shut both of them up, because it hit both of them unprepared. Nobody was more surprised than Oliver that those words had actually left his lips. They had left his lips minutes after he had decided to let Felicity go. How – the hell – had he ended up so pitiful that he forgot about his own resolutions practically seconds after making them? Normally, he was a very determined guy. Where had all of that determination gone? How could Smoak women of all ages get past his defenses so easily?  
  
“Is that so?” Donna's voice had lost a little of its edge. ”Then why are you here, and not with her?”  
  
“Felicity had good reasons to break up with me. I understand them. And I respect them.”  
  
“Bullshit!” Donna made a dismissive gesture that bordered on offensive, “It's like the Beatles said: all you need is love.”  
  
“I don't think that's true.”  
  
Donna raised her eyebrows at him. “You dare to question John?!”  
  
“It's not that easy.” Why was Oliver even trying to reason with this woman? “And it has nothing to do with you. If I recall correctly, it's been three years since you last saw Felicity. So what do you know about what she wants?”  
  
“I know this, rich boy: My baby deserves better than you. And I know that I'm always there for her when she calls. And that's more than you can say for yourself.” Her blond hair flew behind her as she turned around and marched back out of his office.  
  
Oliver watched her leave, his lips pressed tightly together, his eyes sparkling with the rage that boiled inside him. Without thinking he reached for the paper coffee cup and threw it against the glass wall ahead. The light brown liquid that had been the latte meant for Felicity splashed against the see-through surface and spread all over the wall, ran down it and dripped onto the floor.  
  
It was official, Oliver had made a big mess.

 

*******

 

Never before had Oliver been this happy that his CEO-duties kept him busy at QC. On any normal day he couldn't wait to get out of here and to the Foundry. But today he didn't know if Felicity was waiting for him there – and how he would react, if she was.  
  
Or if she wasn't, for that matter.  
  
For now, he placed all his attention on the distribution in Asia, which was a key market that QC was targeting to expand sales. At the moment he was listening to a report the head of the Japanese subsidiary was giving via video conference. The guy was just drinking his third coffee of the day at eight o'clock in the morning, while it was nine p.m. in Starling City. The meeting had started one hour ago – meaning an early start for the Japanese team and a late night for the Americans. It was all about compromise.  
  
Suddenly Oliver was forced to take his attention off the pie chart that was part of the presentation he was trying to follow, when he felt his cellphone vibrate in his jacket pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the display where three unmistakable numbers were visible. Diggle had sent him a 911, which meant he had to let the pie charts go and quit hiding. He got up from his seat. Oliver knew there was no good way to do this, which was why he went with his best no-nonsense approach. “Thank you, gentlemen. I am sorry, but I have to leave you here. Please sent me a copy of your report, I will study the rest later.” He nodded one last time and headed out of the conference room, already calling Diggle back.  
  
Without any greeting Diggle got down to business as soon as he answered Oliver's call, “We think we know where Crane is.” Oliver pressed the button of the elevator. The doors opened immediately and Oliver entered the cabin, while Diggle kept talking, “Felicity found an e-mail on the laptop you got from Elliot's place that mentions a gathering in an abandoned warehouse down by the docks. It's supposed to happen tonight at 9.30.”  
  
“Send the address to my phone. I'll head there right away.”  
  
“You got your back-up suit with you?”  
  
“I do.”  
  
Diggle was quiet for a moment, and Oliver knew what his friend was nice enough not to say. Finally, a deep sigh hit Oliver's ear. “Okay, despite everything; keep a com-link open. I have a bad feeling about this. Felicity said the mail was pretty obvious.”  
  
“Okay. I'll contact you, when I'm on site.”

 

*******

 

This city had too many empty warehouses. That was the only explanation why every shady crew had their own one to meet in. The one he was looking at right now was the classical functional building, an inornate rectangle with a rolling gate big enough for trucks to drive through and tiny windows far above the ground to limit the access points for thieves.  
  
Luckily, Oliver was much more skilled than the ordinary thief. He had made it to the roof of the building without making any sound and had found a broken skylight that gave him the opportunity to glance inside. He saw nothing but a dim light from somewhere on the left. Diggle was right, this was weird. If this really was a gathering, not many people had gotten the memo.  
  
He reached for the tiny button and opened the com-link to the Foundry. There was no need to worry his partners, so he kept his message short. “I'm going in,” he whispered.  
  
He got an answer immediately. “Leave the com-link open.”  
  
Diggle's voice was all worry. His friend should know that the Arrow could push personal issues away and concentrate on the things at hand, but telling Diggle that would give these issues more room than they could have right now, so he just left the com-link open, climbed through the broken window and landed on a galley. Slowly, he walked over the metal grate with his knees bent and his bow readied. He placed one foot in front of the other carefully, being perfectly quiet, while observing his surroundings. He really didn't like what he saw, because it screamed trap to him. Common sense and survival instincts alike told him to not go down there, where he saw a man standing in the cone of light created by a lone light bulb. But Oliver knew that this was also an opportunity he couldn't pass up, which was why he was jumping down the galley in the next moment.  
  
“Good. You got my message. I have been waiting for you.”  
  
Dr. Jonathan Crane had a very thin, slightly high voice. The metal walls threw it back into the huge room, creating an unpleasant echo. Oliver scanned his surroundings. He really saw nobody but this tall, skinny man in the worst suit he had ever seen. It was old and ill-fitting; the legs of the pants were too short while the jacket seemed to be too big. He was a strange sight that turned even stranger by the top hat he wore.  
  
“I dressed up for the occasion,” Crane said now and grinned, revealing really bad teeth. He motioned to Oliver, who still moved toward him cautiously with his bow drawn. “But I see you are wearing your best suit, too.”  
  
“I'm not here to play your games,” Oliver spat at him, his voice technically modified.  
  
“I am not playing, I am studying.”  
  
“Studying what?”  
  
“That is the wrong question,” Crane corrected, and Oliver instantly believed that this man had been a college professor once. He stood there, unmoving, while the light hitting him from above contorted his features and turned the spots where his eyes lay deep in head into dark holes. “The right question is: studying who? And the answer is: you.”  
  
Oliver didn't like this at all.  
  
Crane obviously didn't mind. He just continued his lecture. “See, I gave you quite a few tasks in the last month to study how you operate. To be honest, I was not impressed. It took you quite some time until you caught Mr. Burton.” The thin man now started to slowly wander to the left of the light circle. Oliver watched him carefully, thinking that he probably should end him right now – sadly, he had had stopped ending people, and he still needed to figure out what exactly Crane was up to. Crane, who was still talking while walking, “But in the end, I was lucky that you were so slow. It gave me time to perfect my secret weapon.”  
  
“Vertigo,” Oliver offered.  
  
“That is what you call it, yes. I call it a masterpiece. Of course, I improved it for my purpose.”  
  
“Purpose?” Oliver spat. “What could the purpose of all this be?”  
  
“Thank you for asking! I am glad you are so attentive, makes this whole thing much easier! The purpose of this is scientific progress, of course. I am a scientist, my forte is the primal instinct that connects every living being, human, canine, feline.”  
  
“Fear.”  
  
“Very good. I see you did your homework.”  
  
“Spare me your lecture.” Oliver dared to move closer, still alert and ready to send an arrow through this man he despised with everything he had.  
  
Crane was now slowly walking to the other end of the illuminated spot. He ignored Oliver's words and just kept on talking, obviously pleased to hear the sound of his own voice. “The fears of a person tell us a lot about him... or her. It is even more interesting to study how a person reacts to these fears. There are people who attack everything they see – that was quite an experience I had with Matt and his friends...” He stopped now, once again directly under the light bulb, “You see, I have quite a nice collection of phobias I came across during my scientific research, but I am sure a man like you, a creature of the night, has some very unique fears. And I have a very strong theory to how you will react to them.” He smiled that horrible, teeth-baring smile again. “I think it is time we test them.”  
  
That was Oliver's cue. He let go of the arrow, but Crane was already moving. In the next moment, Oliver heard his arrow hit a metallic wall, while he saw nothing but orange smoke. The thin man had thrown something at him, something like a gas grenade, and now he was surrounded by thick fog. He saw nothing as he tried to look around, reading himself for an attack, listening closely for footsteps nearing him to know where the attack would come from. But it never came. Instead, Oliver realized that he was still standing in the middle of the gas that Diggle had compared to a chemical weapon, and that thought triggered something in him. He felt his chest tighten. Instinctively, he knew he had to get out of this fog. He blindly aimed his bow upward and sent a rope-arrow toward the ceiling. He heard it click and sped upwards in the next moment, away from the mist and Crane, who was once again standing where he had stood before.  
  
“Oh, Mr. Arrow, you are ruining all the fun. I never took you for a guy to run. You are supposed to stay. That is what lab-rats are good for; letting themselves be observed.”  
  
Oliver knew he should feel immense anger at this man and the things he was saying, but he couldn't summon the slightest bit of annoyance. Instead, he felt his heart beat faster, he realized his breathing was getting heavier and sweat was collecting on his forehead. He needed to get out of there completely. He ran over the galley – and the sound his feet made reminded him so much of the Amazo. And suddenly he was back on the damn ship, hearing the banging of heavy footsteps as Slade ran toward him with hate in his eyes to make him pay for Shado's death.  
  
No, he reminded himself, this was the sound of his footsteps. He was in a warehouse; he needed to get out of. The voice he heard was Diggle, talking to him through the com-link to get an update. But talking and walking was too much effort right now. Oliver needed to flee. Get away from danger. He saw the broken window where he had climbed in and took the same way out. His heart was beating even faster, he felt his stomach twist and his mouth turn dry.  
  
His steps were still noisy and left a metallic rattling behind as he ran over the roof of the warehouse. He suddenly felt wet. Rain, a part of him reasoned, but the bigger part of him thought of the way his clothes had clung to his body while he had fought Slade Wilson, a man who he had thought of as his mentor, who he had looked up to and whose blood he had on his hands. And suddenly he saw it, he saw the water filling up this sinking ship, he saw Slade's fathomless hatred and knew that there was no mercy left in this man. He knew that he had to fight or die, take a life, and suddenly pain jerked through his body. The last tiny reasonable part told him that he had just fallen off the roof, but the rest that was driven by the indescribable panic roaming his body told him that he needed to keep going. Away from the memories, which were playing clearly visible in front of his eyes. He saw Slade laying there, staring up at him with an Arrow sticking out of his right eye.  
  
Oliver was staring at the eyes of death. Death he had caused. He had caused so much hurt, he had lost so many friends. His heart constricted. Shado. Her brain had been spilled all over the dirty forest floor, she had died on a hellish island at the hands of a mad-men. She had dropped to the ground, lifeless, motionless with empty eyes, because a guy with a God-complex liked to fuck with people's minds. And because Oliver hadn't been able to stop him. She had spilled her blood just like her father had. And with that thought another body dropped to the ground in front of Oliver's mental eye. Yao Fei had been killed by a bullet aimed perfectly between his eyes. On his forehead it had only been a tiny red dot, but the whole back of his head had been gone.  
  
Just like the head of Oliver's father had exploded. The brain, the blood, the bony splinters, it had spread all across the lifeboat and over the water surface where it had ultimately fed the fish. The suicide of his father, it hadn't been a pretty sight, and Oliver was witnessing it again right now, reliving every second of it. It had happened too fast to act, but it had burned into Oliver's brain how his father had blown his own one out. Oliver had trouble breathing now, he was gasping for air as he was experiencing the first horrible moment that had marked the beginning – no, wait, that wasn't the first one. Before that had been Sara, sucked into the blackness of the sea, lost to impenetrable darkness, swallowed up by water. She may have survived this, but Oliver knew that a part of her had died that night. Like a part of him had been lost at sea forever. And it was his fault that Sara had been on this yacht to begin with.  
  
He had caused so much pain and suffering, he had taken so many people down with him – some of them even quite literally. He had witnessed people he cared about die a senseless death. He had seen others change, twisted into something unrecognizable. He had lost too many people he had loved in too many ways.  
  
He fought to get air into his lunges. He couldn't breathe. This wasn't just fear, this was real panic. And he was alone. There was nobody here to witness it. A small part of him told him that this was a good thing, because Crane was out there somewhere, probably getting off on the state Oliver was in. That guy was dangerous, and Oliver needed everybody to be away from this danger.  
  
But the bigger part of Oliver wished somebody would be there. He was afraid to be alone. He was afraid to face all these demons on his own, there were so many of them, and it scared him that they still held so much power over him after all these years. Fear was adding onto fear, paralyzing him. He had been forcing himself to move forward, as if he could run away from his inner pain, but now his legs gave in. He sank to the cold and wet ground. The rain was pouring down on him, the drops mixing with the tears that ran down his face, while his whole body was shaking. He felt utterly alone and helpless. He hadn't felt like this since he had been alone in the middle of the sea with nothing but water surrounding him.  
  
Or when he had been forced to watch Tommy die. Oh! Tommy! He could see it, how he lay there, his body broken and half-buried, a metal rod stabbed through his chest, his eyes full of life one moment, but empty in the next. Oliver had been forced to watch. He had been unable to do anything. He had tried to safe his city, but he had lost his best friend in the process. He was a failure. He had failed so many people. The people that had died while he just kept on living paraded in front of his inner eye: Tommy and his father, Sara and Shado, Slade and Yao Fei. He had lost them all. They had left him behind. He could see them, standing next to each other. One after the other they dropped to the ground before him, spilling their lives in front of his eyes, dead and gone. Tommy with blood running out of his nose, Sara coughing up water, Slade with the arrow in his eye. Then Shado took a bullet, and Yao Fei, and his father, and Felicity.  
  
He felt like screaming, and he dimly registered that maybe he really did. He didn't want to see this! That had never happened! But it was so vividly real. Felicity lay there, her light extinguished, blood collecting around her, her empty eyes staring up at him. His heart was constricting, beating so heavily that it seemed hurtful. This wasn't real. He was trying to convince himself – but failing. It seemed so real, it looked so real, he saw it with his own eyes. He longed to touch her, to cradle her to him, but he didn't dare to. He felt paralyzed, unable to move, held down by fear that was pure panic. She couldn't be one of the people lying on the dirty ground covered by wet leaves, dead. Not HER! He couldn't lose anybody else, he knew that, but most of all he couldn't lose her. His own death, it held no horror for him, he didn't fear to stop breathing. But there was nothing he feared more than failing another person he loved.  
  
“Oliver!”  
  
Finally, something that had been tugging at the edges of his consciousness sank in. Suddenly, he felt a soft and warm hand on his cheek. The small reasonable part of his brain told him that he knew exactly who this was and that it was a sign that these horrors were just the spawn of his imagination, fueled by the horrible reality he had lived through. The smell of wet forest that had surrounded him, a clear memory from the night and place Shado had died, was suddenly replaced with a breath of spring. It was a flowery smell that reached him in the midst of his worst nightmare. That and the gentle touch on his cheek calmed him a little, pulled him away from the terrors he was reliving and reminded him that there was something good out there, that there was light in all this darkness. “Felicity,” he choked.  
  
“Yes-”  
  
She said more, he could hear her voice, and it calmed him, even if he could not make out the words. She was here, she was alive, and he wasn't alone anymore. She had walked away from him, he had thought he had lost her, failed her, but she had come back to him. She had come when he needed her more than ever, more than anything. She was by his side; she was with him and helped him fight the horrible memories of his past. He had lost so many people. But he wouldn't survive losing her; he knew that with unquestionable certainty.  
  
He forced his shaking arms to move and pulled her to him. “You can't leave me,” he told her in the faintest whisper, it was all he managed. “I can't lose you. You need to stay with me.” The last wasn't a request; it was an order. And then he held on to her for dear life.

 


	10. Guts over fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's hardly unique since I say it every time, but I just mean it every time: I thank you girls with all my heart for the constant support and love you're sending my way with kudos and comments. I am so excited that you enjoy my story and that I manage to entertain and move you with it. I loved reading all your comments and thoughts about chapter nine. I know it was an intense one, but you know Oliver, he needs shit hitting the fan to come to his senses. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter as well, even though it's again a change of pace.
> 
> Thanks to Gina for being my beta.

**10\. Guts over fear (Eminem feat. Sia)  
  
** The heart-monitor drove her crazy. Felicity knew that its constant beeping was a good thing since it was the unmistakable proof that Oliver's heart was still beating – and that it was beating at a reasonable speed. When they had arrived at the ER Oliver's pulse had been a whopping 180. The doctor had diagnosed a full-out panic attack. Felicity could have told him that without any medical training or checking Oliver's pulse.  
  
The haunted look on his face had said it all.  
  
Felicity would never forget the expression on Oliver's face or the sight he had presented them when they had finally reached him. He had been slouched against a graffiti covered wall not far away from the warehouse he had entered to confront Crane. He had been barely able to hold himself up, and when she and Diggle had hurried toward him, they had seen his knees give in. He had fallen to the ground and landed in a puddle created by the rain, which had been mercilessly drumming down on them, with a sob that had torn at Felicity. She had fallen to her knees next to him in that moment and had brought her hands to his face. She felt the stubble under her fingertips and clammy skin that wasn't only the result of him being in the cold rain for too long. He had breathed heavily through his mouth, even though it had been less like real breathing and more him forcing air into his lunges. His eyes had been wide open, but he hadn't seen her, he had looked at something else that was only visible to him and that must have been worthy of a lifetime of nightmares.  
  
She had repeated his name at least three or four times until he had registered her presence. She had told him to calm down, that they were there, that he didn't need to be afraid, but it had been no use. She had looked at Diggle and had asked him what they should do, because Felicity wasn't good with this, with staying calm in un-calm situations, but Diggle was all soldier when it came to moments like these. Suddenly Oliver moved and caught her completely by surprise. He clung to her, pressed her to his shaking body so hard and so long she was sure he had cracked one of her ribs. She was not even joking. He held on so tight, she hadn't been able to move, and he hadn't let go.  
  
After one minute that had turned _really_ awkward.  
  
Diggle had decided that they needed to get Oliver to hospital. They moved Oliver to the car and into his business-suit. He moved like he was on autopilot with their help, his movements were off and from time to time he flexed his muscles like he was getting ready for a fight. But before he had managed to strike her or Diggle he seemed to notice it was them. Diggle had hinted at Oliver's self-restraint then, and Felicity knew that he was right; a lesser man wouldn't have survived what Oliver was going through, let alone hold himself back from lashing out.  
  
By that time Felicity had a pretty good idea what had really been behind this alleged mass suicide.  
  
Thinking back to it now, it seemed like an unreal memory, like a bad dream, like this couldn't have possibly happened, like she couldn't have possibly seen Oliver like this, so unlike himself, so haunted. Right now he looked so peaceful, as he lay in the hospital bed with the spotless white sheets. His breathing was even, his face was relaxed, he was sleeping calmly, his eyes were no longer moving erratically behind his closed eyelids like they had hours ago. He was no longer restrained, because his self-restraint had ended when they had reached the hospital. Felicity wasn't exactly sure what had trigged it, but once they had entered the clinic Oliver had started lashing out. Against which inner demon he had fought then – Felicity didn't know. Still, Diggle had kept the doctors from adding an antipsychotic to whatever other drug was cycling through Oliver's veins.  
  
They had invented a story about how Diggle had found Oliver in the garage of QC, completely out of it. Diggle had sworn up and down that it wasn't like Oliver Queen to be drugged up, and the doctor had ordered a blood screening, which had left the experts baffled and helpless. Felicity had taken the hint and contacted Star Labs, who had the Vertigo formula and the blood sample from the autopsy long enough to have come up with something. Luckily, they already had working a hypothesis and were willing to support the doctors to develop a treatment. Sadly, it had taken them three hours to come up with anything they felt was save enough to try on an actual human who was supposed to survive. But by then they would have been willing to try almost anything, because by then it had been pretty obvious that the effects wouldn't dissipate by themselves. It had been horrible to watch Oliver like this, but Felicity hadn't been able to bring herself to leave his side. He had asked her to stay with him – or rather; he had told her to stay with him in that no-nonsense voice he had perfected. But there has also been something else there, a certain desperation in the way he had held her that was so uncharacteristic of him; she just couldn't leave his side.  
  
And nobody had asked her to.  
  
The visit to the hospital had been the first time that the fake engagement had come in handy. Nobody questioned her right to be there, to sit with him. She had called Moira, who had come and brought Thea with her immediately. Thea had been especially worked up by what she saw, and Felicity knew that Thea understood that what she was witnessing were the answers to every question she had ever had about the island and why her brother had returned a different man. It wasn't Ollie, it was Oliver fighting against the restraints, one moment threatening to kill some invisible foe, calling him a psychopath, only to become completely still in the next and shed silent tears. It had been when Oliver had yelled a “DAD! NO!” that Thea had fled the room, and Moira had lost the cool facade she was always sporting.  
  
It had been so intense that Felicity couldn't think straight – or un-straight as her normal thought-process was. All she could do was sit there and wait for things to get better.  
  
That had happened around four a.m., when whatever the doctors had given him had finally taken effect. The blood tests they had run every hour were improving, Oliver was calming down until he finally fell asleep. Felicity thought this would be a good moment to pee. “I'll get a coffee, do you want some?” she asked Moira and Thea, who were sitting on chairs next to each other.  
  
Thea wordlessly shook her head, but Moira nodded. “Thank you, Felicity.” She was talking about more than the coffee, Felicity understood that clearly, and despite this crappy situation it felt really nice.  
  
Felicity tried a small smile. “I'll be right back.” She left the room and her eyes instantly landed on John Diggle, who sat on a plastic chair in the hall. He should not be sitting out here; he should be in there with all of them.  
  
The huge man got up from his seat and walked toward her. “How is he?”  
  
“The results of the last blood tests are good. The drug is nearly gone.”  
  
Diggle nodded, relieved. “Detective Lance was here, wanted to talk to you. I told him you'd call him later, when Oliver has woken up. He told me that he already checked the security tapes of the garage, but they were offline at the time.” He tried a small smile. “Well done.”  
  
“Please,” Felicity huffed, “if I couldn't manipulate QC security tapes, I should just go and start waiting on tables with my mom.” She frowned as she contemplated a sudden thought, “Is it even considered hacking, if I installed all the security protocols myself?” She looked at Diggle, “Probably not.”  
  
“No, probably not,” the small smile was still on his face, “you should be more upset when you talk to Lance. Remember, somebody got into your system.”  
  
“Yeah, sure.”  
  
This short answer caused Diggle to stop smiling. “You've been here all night. You should get some sleep.”  
  
“I can't leave, John,” Felicity looked at her friend, “you know I can't.”  
  
He did know; the understanding visible on his face made that clear. He understood all the different reasons she had for wanting to be there when he woke up. Because her being one of the first people Oliver saw when he opened his eyes would sent an unspoken message. And Felicity needed to tell him many things without actually saying them.  
  
The most important one was that she didn't want space. She had been too worked up when she had said that she did. She had freaked out over _nothing_ , over the most harmless kiss, she felt stupid for that now. She needed to show him that they could work things out, go back to their sides and start being platonic friends again. She could work that out, because the scare he had given her when she had feared that he wouldn't survive had showed her that she would rather be separated by an invisible line than being completely without him.  
  
She knew that it was weak and slightly pitiful, but for now she would just have to live with the fact that Oliver Queen was her ultimate weakness.  
  
“But you should go home, Digg,” Felicity said. “It's wrong that you're sitting out here on your own, especially, when the room is so nice. I guess that's the advantage when you donate enough money to build a whole hospital wing – best treatment possible. I know I should find that offensive, but it did come in handy tonight.”  
  
“It really did.” Diggle scratched his neck. “But if you say things are looking up in there, I'll head home and catch a few hours of sleep.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “You'll call me, if you need anything, right?”  
  
“I promise.”  
  
They said their goodbyes, and Felicity hurried to the nearest restroom. When she washed her hands after exiting the bathroom stall, she made the mistake of glancing into the mirror. It wasn't a pretty sight. The rain had washed her make-up away, her mascara was smeared around her eyes intensifying the dark circles that worry and the lack of sleep had created. She tried to wipe the traces away and fixed her ponytail. Neither helped much. Deciding that she had more important things to worry about, she left the bathroom, got two coffees, one for Moira and one for herself, from the machine in the hall and went back to the room.  
  
Oliver was still sleeping. She handed a plastic cup to Moira, who silently thanked her with a nod and sat down on her own chair. Glancing at the Queens, who sat on the other side of the bed, Felicity took a sip of her coffee – and immediately put the cup on the hospital nightstand next to the bed. It was awful! Worse than the swill they called coffee at QC – and that was really saying something. This company had everything, except a decent fix for your caffeine addiction. When Felicity had still been at the IT-department she had been the only one who cared, because to the other tech-geeks it didn't matter what their coffee tasted like as long as it was black and strong enough to make the hair on your chest grow. Not that any male member of the IT-department had chest-hair. All of these were the reasons she preferred the latte from the corner-café.  
  
And with that her wandering thoughts travelled back to Oliver. Her eyes followed her thoughts – and in the next moment she couldn't help herself, she reached for his hand that was resting next to him on the white sheet. The rules had not been formally reinstated yet, the line was still blurred, and she would use that to her advantage for as long as she could. She cradled his hand in hers. His hand was rough; hardened by fights and the callus you get from drawing a bow over and over again or from pulling yourself up the salmon ladder. Her fingertips moved over the palm of his hand as she looked at his relaxed face.  
  
Silence was engulfing in the room, only disturbed by the damn beeping of the heart monitor. Oliver was sleeping and none of the three women felt like talking as they were all lost in their own thoughts. The next time Felicity glanced at the clock, it was two p.m. That explained why she felt so utterly exhausted. She couldn't remember even feeling this tired, not even during the study-marathons she had pulled for her exams at MIT. She had been awake for nearly twenty six hours now, and before that she had only gotten four hours of unruly sleep, because she had spent the previous night, which had followed her leaving Oliver behind at Queen mansion, crying and telling her mother half-truths about her relationship with Oliver; a relationship that in reality had never been more than a friendship.  
  
Oh, God! Her mother! She needed to call her. She had forgotten about her. How awful. In Felicity's defense, she was simply not used to having her mother around. Normally, it was just her and-  
  
“Felicity.”  
  
The hoarse voice caused her eyes to snap back to the bed. Subconsciously, she tightened the grip on his hand which she still hadn't let go. “Oliver.” She sat up straighter on her chair, leaned a little closer to him. She just looked at him, for once not knowing what else to say, letting her eyes do the talking, getting the silent communication going she had thought about before.  
  
Oliver's tongue was heavy as he said, “You're here.”  
  
“Of course.” Felicity looked at him and into his eyes for a moment and found a sparkle that caused a happy shiver to run through her. She allowed herself to enjoy that for a moment while Moira and Thea, who had jumped up from their seats, caught Oliver's attention.  
  
“Ollie,” Thea's voice was shaking as she now said, “you really scared us!”  
  
Felicity couldn't help but feel like this was the understatement of year.

 

*******

 

When she had dropped her phone Oliver had sent her home. She had been going on the 30th hour without sleep then and simply lost her grip on her cell when she had tried to ignore yet another call from Detective Lance. Oliver had been wide awake by then. He had looked at her and told her to go and get some sleep. He had also added that he'd drop by her place later. That had utterly confused Felicity. Because, one, she wasn't exactly sure why he thought he would be cleared to leave the hospital with all the tests the doctors were still running. Even though, Felicity knew better than most that there was no stopping Oliver when he had made up his mind about doing something that wasn't the smartest option, healthy-wise or other. So, okay, yeah, the first thing wasn't all that unlikely. But the second thing was a big WTF, because why would he drop by her place. Oliver Queen didn't _drop by_ anything. That was a completely un-Oliver thing for Oliver to say – and to do.  
  
Maybe, he was still high.  
  
She was still contemplating this possibility when the elevator opened and revealed the hospital lobby – and Detective Lance standing right in front of the door. Their eyes met. “Miss Smoak,” he greeted and stepped to the side, giving her room to get out of the elevator. “I heard Oliver Queen's getting better.”  
  
“Yes, I was about to call you. I just wanted to get a taxi and head home.”  
  
Quentin Lance nodded. “I'll drive you. We can discuss some things on the ride.”  
  
Felicity had never driven in a cop-car before. It wasn't all that – especially, since she didn't dare to ask him to turn on the siren. That would be stupid and childish, and probably also too loud to have a decent conversation. And Felicity had quite a few things to tell the detective about Crane and his past and how he had altered Vertigo to become something like a fear-gas whose effect just _wouldn't_ die down.  
  
“Why would Crane target Oliver Queen?” Lance asked when Felicity had told him everything – or everything he needed to know in a safe version.  
  
“I don't know.” Felicity shrugged and searched her brain for something to say that made sense, “I guess he was a good addition to Crane's fear-collection. He experienced some bad things while he was on that island.”  
  
Lance stared straight ahead out of the windshield and just nodded. Finally he sent Felicity a glance, “Does our mutual friend know about this?”  
  
“He does. Believe me, he's well aware.”  
  
“We need to get this Crane. I want that new drug off my streets.”  
  
“I wouldn't call it a drug. I mean, that kinda implies a positive high, doesn't it?” She realized what she was saying and to whom, “I mean not to me. But to other people. Who I do not know. Personally. I'm absolutely drug free... Apart from that time at that frat party, but how was I supposed to know that this tea-”  
  
“I don't think I need to hear this,” Lance cut her off.  
  
Felicity shut her mouth instantly, “right.”  
  
“When you contact the Arrow tell him to get on this right away and tell him to count me in. I want that fear-gas off my streets.”  
  
That makes two of them.

 

*******

 

You should not wake up and feel tired. That seemed completely wrong but, still, it was happening right now to Felicity. Groggily, she rolled onto her back and blinked up at the ceiling. She hadn't bothered to close the blinds when she had returned home, had apologize to her mother for staying away the whole night without saying a word. The apology had made her feel like a teenager... Or rather like she guessed normal teenagers would feel, because Felicity hadn't been the type of teenager to just stay out the whole night. Even though, she could have been. Donna Smoak had worked night shifts as long as Felicity could remember. Her mom would never have noticed an all-nighter. Anyway, Felicity had apologized and fallen into her bed. She had barely managed to take off her clothes and change into her pajamas. Now the passing cars were casting lights against the walls and the ceiling and the streetlamp was shining into her bedroom unblocked. Both gave her hints at the time; it couldn't be too late. Her body felt heavy as she now rolled onto her side to get a look at the clock standing on the nightstand. It was 9.30 p.m., which meant that there was a good reason why she still felt so exhausted. She had barley slept three hours. But before going to bed she had drunk mass amounts of coffee to keep her eyes open – and that liquid wanted out now.  
  
Heavily, she pushed herself off the bed and headed to the bathroom down the hall. She heard her mother moving in the living-room and remembered that she was scheduled to head back to Vegas tonight. It was time to say goodbye. But, first, Felicity's bladder told her to hurry. Two minutes later she felt very relieved as she stood in front of her bathroom mirror. She glanced into it and, wow, she couldn't help but feel like, if there was a big scarecrow out there, it was her. At least she looked the part. Sighing, she reached for her tooth brush. She had the most disgusting taste in her mouth and needed to get rid off it, before she faced her mother.  
  
As she started brushing her teeth she couldn't help but think that it had been exactly one day ago that Oliver had confronted Crane. Twenty four hours since Oliver had walked into a trap that, looking back to it now, was pretty obvious. She hadn't seen Crane, she hadn't faced him, hadn't stood opposite to him like Oliver had, she had only listened to their conversation via the intercom – and it had been a whole bunch of crazy that had left the psychiatrist's mouth. Felicity hadn't been really worried. That, of course, had rapidly changed when they had suddenly heard Oliver's heavy breathing and when he hadn't answered Diggle. All that had followed had been gasps and sobs and a yell of pain, but by then they were already on their way to the GPS-coordinates the tracker inside his shoe was sending them. Felicity rinsed her mouth, put the tooth brush away and reached for her hair brush. She couldn't go to the living room with the horrible bed head she was sporting. Donna Smoak would never let that go uncommented.  
  
Felicity's thoughts, on the other hand, were still on the Arrow's equipment. Maybe she could include a camera to the communication system also. This idea had first crossed her mind when the bombings had started and the possibility of needing to disarm a bomb had become very likely and with it the necessity that Diggle might have to talk Oliver through it. A camera would help in such a moment. It needed to be tiny, though, and easy to activate and deactivate – and, of course, its quality needed to be better than that of the ordinary security camera. It needed to be hidden, while still allowing a good view of what was going on. She was making a mental list of what was needed, when the ringing of her doorbell interrupted her thoughts.  
  
She put the brush down and left the bathroom. Barefoot and in her sleepwear Felicity walked down the hall toward the front door, when she realized that her mother had already opened it and let whoever had been ringing into the house. Felicity heard her voice come from the living room, “So, you think you can just show up here and all is forgotten?” It was her mother's snappy voice, Felicity realized now. And she was snapping at...  
  
“No, I don't.”  
  
Oliver. This realization rooted Felicity to the spot. As she stood there in the dark hall glancing toward where light was coming from the living room, she couldn't help but think that she had just _known_ he'd get out of this hospital whether the doctors thought it was wise or not.  
  
A part of her reasoned that she shouldn't stand here and listen in to other people's conversation, but it lost the majority vote. The bigger part of Felicity wanted to hear what these two would talk about.  
  
Strangely, it was Oliver and not her wordy mother continuing the conversation, “what's with the suitcase?”  
  
“I need to go back to Vegas. I've been here ten days. How much vacation do you think a waitress gets?”  
  
Felicity frowned. That was a surprisingly normal conversation. Felicity had to admit, she had expected more out of this eavesdropping.  
  
“But I still have some time left to tell you that our last conversation is not forgotten. I still think you're a dickhead. A handsome dickhead, but a dickhead nonetheless.”  
  
 _There_ it was! This was more like what Felicity had expected of her mother. She had no idea when this 'last conversation' had happened, but she felt like now was the right time to interfere with this one. She made one more step toward the living room, when Oliver spoke up again. “I don't need you to tell me that again.”  
  
“Oh, then you realized that I was right?”  
  
“I did.”  
  
That stopped Felicity again. What? That didn't sound right. That didn't sound like Oliver. Was he still high?  
  
But Oliver didn't elaborate, instead he changed the subject. “So, you're leaving?”  
  
“Yeah, you'll be rid of me soon.”  
  
“Felicity was sure you'd ask me for money. She'll be happy to know that you didn't.”  
  
He was right, that did make her happy. She started to smile against the darkness of the hall. Maybe, she had misjudged her mother.  
  
“You were planning to ask me for money, weren't you?”  
  
Or maybe she had been absolutely right. Oliver's second statement caused sudden disappointment to rise in Felicity. She should have known: Her mother wouldn't travel across the country, if there wasn't money waiting at the end of the journey – and a billionaire offered more than enough to justify the trouble of travel. She wouldn't have come all this way just to see her daughter. This caused Felicity to regain control of her movement.  
  
“Not anymore,” Donna Smoak snapped now, but fell quiet when Felicity entered the room.  
  
She saw Oliver shift his weight, but her whole attention was on her mother, who stood by the kitchen-counter. Felicity was hurt and angry and cranky due to a serious lack of sleep, and she didn't feel like being polite right now, “And I really had a guilty conscious, because I hadn't told you about Oliver. I should have trusted my gut.”  
  
“ Lizzy, you misunderstand.” Donna sighed. “Coming here made me realize that we did grow apart. I don't want his money anymore.”  
  
Felicity didn't know how to feel about this 'anymore.' Because maybe things had really changed. Having her mother around hadn't been half bad, it had been kinda nice actually. The night before last her mother had been there for her and had held her, she had comforted her and that had been nice. Making peace with her mother didn't feel as utterly wrong as it had two weeks ago. Maybe this could be a new start – but first Felicity needed to come to terms with what had happened before. “What did you need money for?”  
  
“Vinny-”  
  
Felicity snapped for air and cut her mother off. “You're back with _him_? He's a gambler!”  
  
“He has that under control.” Felicity crossed her arms over her chest, saying nothing. This spurred Donna to say more, “Okay, there was a slight setback when the poker championship happened. But in his defense, the chances that this guy had a royal flush were barely existent.”  
  
“Mom, seriously, that guy would gamble away the roof over his head!” She saw the expression on her mother's face and couldn't believe it. “He lost the house? Like, literally?”  
  
“No, he... We can pay 40.000 dollars and everything is _fine_.”  
  
“Fine? How can everything be fine? I cannot believe that you're still with that loser!”  
  
“Well, baby, Smoak women always had a knack for falling for the completely wrong guy.”  
  
“At least my guy doesn't have a gambling addiction!” Seconds later Felicity closed her eyes as she wished she could just disappear. Slowly, she turned to look at Oliver who she had very successfully ignored till now. “Not to say that you're the wrong guy. Or my guy at all. I mean, you're my guy, like I'm your girl.” She wished she would just stop talking, but somehow she didn't. “I don't mean that like your my _guy_ and I'm your _girl_. I know that those are the same words, but they mean something different in my head.”  
  
The faintest smile was playing around his mouth. “Don't worry, Felicity, I'm your guy.”  
  
Wait! What? Did he mean he was her guy or he was her _guy_? Because there was a difference and that was important!  
  
She couldn't inquire about that – thank God –, because her mother was talking. “I'm sorry, Lizzy. I admit, I came here for the wrong reasons, but, believe me, I stayed for the right ones. We can figure this out. Please, can we figure this out?”  
  
Felicity saw how serious her mother was and knew that now was the time to make peace. “Yeah, mom. Sure.”  
  
Mother and daughter looked at each other for a moment, and Felicity could see and feel it right then; they would figure things out. It would all be okay.  
  
“Felicity has your bank details, I assume.”  
  
The two Smoak women looked at Oliver, who dared to shrug as if the fact that he had just indirectly said that he'd give Donna 40.000 dollars was nothing. For him it probably was. But for the two females it was a lot. “Oliver-,” Felicity started.  
  
But he cut her off right there, “Felicity, we have so many things that are impossible to fix. This is an easy fix, let me do this.”  
  
She knew everything he was referring to and didn't dare to object. She also didn't dare to object, because she knew that the money would really help her mother, make things easier – and Donna Smoak never had it easy. She turned to her mother with her index finger raised. “This is a onetime thing! This will _never_ happen again. And we will talk more often and tell each other more stuff.”  
  
Donna Smoak nodded so forcefully, her blonde hair was flowing around her face. She swallowed heavily, “I promise!” And then she rushed to Felicity with her arms spread wide and pulled her into a hug that reminded Felicity that Oliver had probably really cracked a rib. But she still hugged her mother back who now whispered in her ear, “I love you, baby.”  
  
“Love you, too, mom.”  
  
The women let go, and Donna awkwardly turned to Oliver, “I guess I need to apo-”  
  
“No.” Oliver looked at her, “you don't. It's all good.”  
  
The older woman nodded, “Well, thank you.” In that moment the doorbell rang again. Donna motioned toward the hall, “That's my taxi. They sure took their time, I was expecting it when Oliver rang.”  
  
Felicity looked at her mom, “You wanted to leave without saying goodbye?”  
  
Her mother motioned toward the coffee table, “You needed sleep, and I left a note.”  
  
Felicity just nodded and went to open the door, followed by her mother who was dragging her suitcase behind herself. The women hugged again. “Thanks, mom, for coming and being here.”  
  
Donna still held on to her daughter. “Thank you for everything. I will call you when I'm back home.”  
  
“Yes, please, do.”  
  
Felicity could practically feel her mother smile as she now whispered, “That guy in your living-room is not the right one for you. So I wish you all the best. You'll figure this out.”  
  
Felicity didn't know what to say to this, so she just nodded. The taxi driver used this moment to honk and the two women finally let go. “I'll call you,” Donna promised again, before she called toward the living-room. “Bye, Oliver.” And then Donna Smoak picked up her suitcase and headed down the stairs to the taxi. Felicity waited until the car was moving, sent her mother one last wave and headed back into the living-room.  
  
Strangely, it was this moment that Felicity realized that there was Oliver Queen standing in her living room and really grasped what that meant. He had never been here before. But now he was, and she stood there in her pajama bottoms – blue with white clouds –, a white tank top and her feet bare. Thank God, she had at least brushed her hair. Still, suddenly she felt self-conscious.  
  
“I'm sorry to just drop by here.” Oliver said now.  
  
“Well, you said you would. But then I thought you were still high.” She realized how this must sound in the light of all that happened in the last twenty four hours and hurried to add, “I mean not the fun kind of high that ends with having the munches and giggling at the word cock-tail.” She frowned and said more to herself than to him. “That really wasn't one of my prouder moments...” She looked back at him, “I just meant that you said and did a lot of things that weren't exactly the normal you...” She trailed off.  
  
He hesitated for a moment, then he nodded. “True.” That was all he said to this. Silence fell between them as they stood on the wooden floor of Felicity's living-room with quite a few steps separating them, creating a distance between them that was very fitting.  
  
She swallowed and tried to dissolve some of the tension she was feeling by starting something that resembled a normal conversation, “Did the doctor clear you to go?”  
  
“No, he didn't.”  
  
“I didn't think so.” She could feel her plan failing and the tension growing, and she couldn't keep herself from asking, “Oliver, why are you here?”  
  
“I needed to make sure you're okay. The chance that Crane hears that Oliver Queen was rushed to hospital because of a panic attack and puts two and two together aren't slim. He might come after you.”  
  
She sighed. “Don't make Digg sit in front of my house all night again. The poor guy has suffered enough today.”  
  
A small smile showed on his face for the fraction of a second, but disappeared instantly. He was the serious and tense version of himself when he said, “I planned on taking the watch myself, if you let me.”  
  
“You want to take position outside? Do you think that's wise after everything you've been through today?”  
  
“I hoped you'd let me in.”  
  
That was such a strange phrasing. “Let you in?”  
  
“Yes.” He took one step toward her, just one. “Because I was a coward before.”  
  
What was he saying here? There was only one logical explanation: He _was_ still high. “Oliver, you're not making any sense. I don't know anybody who's braver than you.”  
  
“No. Not when it comes to the things that matter.”  
  
“Things that matter? Like what?”  
  
“Like you.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
She probably should tell him that he had phrased that poorly, because she wasn't a thing. But that would be being petty, when the bottom-line of his statement was that she mattered to him – and that was a _nice_ thing for him to say. More than nice, actually. And it was a surprising thing for him so say. It was so surprising that it left her speechless.  
  
Luckily, Oliver was ready to fill the gap in conversation. He took another step toward her. “I told myself that I was protecting you, when I was only protecting myself. I was afraid, really afraid. But after last night, I'm done with that.” Felicity swallowed heavily, and Oliver took another step toward her and said, his voice determined, “I like the blurred lines.” He took a fourth step and was finally close to her, “I want to wipe them away for good.”  
  
Felicity just started up at him.  
  
He smirked, “And, no, I'm not still high. I am serious.”  
  
She swallowed again, even though, her mouth was dry. One million things she could say flew through her head and one million questions. Questions like: _really_? But she neither said nor asked anything. Instead, she dared to take him seriously. Because Oliver wouldn't be here doing this, saying this, if he wasn't serious. She trusted Oliver more than enough to believe that he wouldn't play with her like this. It may be stupid, but he was her ultimate weakness.  
  
Her eyes were glued to his as he now brought his face closer to hers. His breath brushed her skin as he said, “I want us to be together.” It wasn't a request, it was a statement.  
  
Felicity looked into his eyes, she felt his closeness, she could smell his scent that was so uniquely him that she couldn't even begin to describe it. It filled her senses completely, and an excited tingle rushed through her. His voice was serious and soft as he now said, “I know I'm damaged goods, Felicity. I know I probably am the wrong guy, and it's okay, if you don't wa-”  
  
“I want us to be together, too.” There, she had ruined the moment and blurted it out. When he had said it, it had sounded so amazing, but she made it sound dorky, she thought. But Oliver didn't seem to mind her awkwardness at all. Instead, she saw a smile appear on his face – one of the real ones, one of the honest ones she loved so much.  
  
He brought his right hand up and cupped her cheek, his fingertips tracing her neck. He was still smiling, “Then we should just do that.”  
  
That sounded so strangely simple so suddenly, but the sudden simplicity made her smile, too. “Okay.” For once, Felicity felt like one simple word was enough.  
  
They were still gazing at each other intensely, studying each other in a way that was unfamiliar. She was looking at Oliver in a way she would have never dared before. His face was so close to hers, his right hand was on her cheek, and then she felt his lips on hers. It was a soft kiss, a gentle kiss; that caused the tingle inside Felicity to grow into a spark. She felt warm and oh so _good_. But she knew that a sweet kiss wouldn't do. It was a nice start, but it just wasn't enough to do justice to what she was feeling right now. She brought her hands up to his chest, let them travel down and to his sides while she brought her own body closer to his. This was his cue to bring his left up too, to cup her face in both hands and deepen the kiss.  
  
Felicity could get lost in this, in feeling him this close, in his lips on hers, in tasting him, and right in this moment she did. When they broke the kiss, Felicity knew her cheeks were flushed, but didn't care at all. Oliver let go of her face and brought his arms around her, pulling her to his body. His breath brushed the shell of her ear as he now said, “It's not smart to do this now, with Crane and everything, but I realized that there's no time to waste.”  
  
Wow! He had sure wasted at lot of time to realize that.

 

 


	11. Better living though chemistry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, we're nearing the end, but we're not quite there yet. ;-) As always I want to thank everybody who took the time to comment! You all said so many amazing and insightful things, it really is a pleasure every time. Thank you with all my heart. And, of course, kudos to everybody who sent kudos my way.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. I know it's what most of you have been waiting for all this time. 
> 
> Thanks to Gina for being my beta.

**11\. Better living through chemistry (Queens of the Stone Age)  
**   
Normally waking up was followed by getting up. Back on the island Oliver had learned that sleep did nothing more than leave you defenseless. It was best to get up and get moving as quickly as possible. It had turned into a habit that he hadn't broken since he was back in Starling City – until today.  
  
The light of the day was creeping into the room that was still unfamiliar to him, revealing the colors around him, the light yellow walls, the mint carpet, the pink clock on the nightstand. It should be a bit much for his taste, but it wasn't. It felt just right. It felt just right that this was Felicity's bedroom, it felt right to be here and it felt right to, for once, not get up quickly, but to stay in bed and watch her sleep.  
  
She was resting on her side, her blond hair spread out over her pillow. He had never seen her like this, but it was a sight he could get used to. It was just her. Her face was free of all make-up and so relaxed. She looked so beautiful, he thought. The comforter had slipped down a little, revealing her naked shoulder to him. He felt like tracing her skin with his fingertips, but he kept from touching her. This time it weren't self-erected barriers holding him back, he simply didn't want to wake her up. There was no need to hold back – and as last night had proven, now that he had torn all barriers down, he really couldn't do that anymore.  
  
Oliver hadn't planned for this to happen. He had planned to do this right, to start this slowly with a nice date and to then go from there. Sex had been supposed to be kept for later. That had been the plan. It had gone right out of the window, when his lips had touched hers and she then deepened the kiss. It triggered something that just couldn't be stopped even if he had wanted to – which he hadn't. Last night, months – many, many months – of sexual tension had finally found an outlet. There was no way to open the lid just a little bit. She had felt so good, her skin was so soft and inviting. And she had smelled so good. He now knew that it had been the flowery scent of her shampoo that had reached him in the midst of pure panic and pulled him back to reality a bit more. And she had looked so good, under him and on top of him, with a spark in her eyes he had never seen before.  
  
Last night had been the first time he had heard Felicity gasp in a way that wasn't bad news.  
  
It must be one of the most wonderful sounds he had ever heard. The only thing that rivaled that gasp what the way she had whispered his name when her tension had peaked. That had been music to his ears.  
  
Oliver allowed himself this private moment and dared to feel happy. Really happy. Right then he was just a guy laying in bed with the girl he cared about more than anything.  
  
The pure happiness didn't last long, of course, because no matter how much he wanted to, Oliver could never forget that he wasn't just some guy in bed with a girl. He knew he was putting her at risk. He knew she wasn't a fighter. Diggle had tried to teach her some basic self-defense moves several times already, but each time Felicity was in a situation to exercise any of them the training went right out of the window. Oliver knew he should feel like he needed to teach her and train her harder so that she was able to do more than hiding and screaming. But he really didn't. Not being able to fight wasn't a flaw, it was who Felicity was. She wasn't a fighter, she was a thinker and a talker, and he wanted to keep it that way.  
  
Which meant that he would make sure she stayed in the lair from now on. If she ever pulled a stunt like she had with Tockman again, he would kill her. Last night, his fingertips had traced the scar she had gotten that night when she had pushed Sara away from the bullet and been hit herself. It was the only scar marking her body. He needed it to stay like this, he needed her to stay unmarked, well, mostly unmarked. He had enough scars for the both of them.  
  
“ What's with the worry face?”  
  
Felicity's voice brought Oliver back to the here and now. This also proved that this wasn't a normal morning. Oliver rarely let himself get caught deep in thought. He placed his eyes on her and brought his hand to her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. “Good morning.”  
  
“Good morning,” she answered and let her eyes trace his face carefully as she repeated, “What's with the worry face?” He should have known that Felicity was a person who was willing to have a long discussion directly after waking up. And then he couldn't help but think that it was her looking worried, when she quickly added, “Oh God, you're having second thoughts. You don't want to take it back, do you?”  
  
His thumb was still brushing her cheek, “No,” he reassured her. “not at all. I just thought that we need to set up some ground rules.”  
  
“And here I was thinking that we were done sticking to the rules.”  
  
“These are new rules. And they are non-negotiable.”  
  
“Seriously, you're using your Arrow-voice on me?” He knew what Felicity sounded like when she was annoyed or angry. Her voice showed that she was neither. Instead, it showed dim traces of teasing. “Fine,” she sat up, “I should have known not to expect any sweet talk in the morning,” her eyes settled on him, “hit me.”  
  
“There will be no more solo missions. You will never go out there again without us knowing, having a plan and backing you up.”  
  
“I did that _one_ time! Okay... Maybe, twice.”  
  
“ It was stupid both times!” He looked at her sternly, because he was NOT kidding.  
  
“So because we're together now you think you can tell me what to do?” She crossed her arms over her chest, “because you really _can't_! If I-” She stopped mid-sentence, looking stunned suddenly.  
  
He sat up, too, “What?”  
  
“ I said we're together.”  
  
Worry was replaced with amusement, “We both said we wanted to be last night.”  
  
“That's weird,” her eyes grew wide in the next moment, “not weird _bad_ , but weird unfamiliar. I mean I was convinced you'd still been hung up on Laurel 'til last night.” Her face twisted, “It probably isn't smart to bring up your ex right now. I really kinda wish I hadn't. But I just thought I had this whole unrequited crush-thing going on and you can stop me from talking any time you want...”  
  
He must have been better with keeping his feelings from her than he had believed. And she was right, it was unfamiliar, but at the same time it was just like it had always been. He smiled and scooted closer to her. “Felicity, there never was an unrequited crush-thing going on. It has been pretty mutual for some time.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“I told you I was a coward. I was afraid to let you in.” He paused to inhale deeply before continuing, because if there was one person to tell, it was her. “I‘ve lost many people. Most to death, some to something even darker. And I couldn't bare the thought of loosing one more person I cared deeply about...”  
  
He saw understanding on her face. He didn't know what she had witnessed exactly when he had been under the influence of Crane's Vertigo, but he knew she was thinking about it now and probably piecing things together. He nodded to her unspoken understanding, “Crane made me realize that keeping my distance hadn't stopped me from already caring. It was probably the last few weeks with the blurred lines, but there's no going back, it's done. And it doesn't matter, if we're officially together or if I deny myself something I really want. I cannot lose you.”  
  
Felicity swallowed, “You said that. When we found you at the docks, you said that.”  
  
“I still mean it, Felicity. And I know it's not smart to admit that when there's a madman with a fear-gas out there. It's not the best time, but-”  
  
“Oliver, there's always some madman out there. There will never be a _good_ time.”  
  
“ And that's why we need rules. I don't mean to tell you what to do – I have absolutely NO illusions about that. But when it comes to what we do at the Foundry, I call the shots. You need to promise me that.”  
  
She looked at him. “Do you know what you're like when you're in Arrow-mode? There's no arguing with you then anyway.”  
  
“Promise me.”  
  
“I promise.”  
  
He nodded, satisfied.  
  
Suddenly a smile showed on her face, “I have a rule, too.” Suspicious, he looked at her, silently telling her to go on, and she did. “The official Queen-functions need to be reduced. To maybe two a month. I cannot stand forced small-talk with strangers three times a week. And we need to keep your mom and Thea from planning a wedding. I think we should get used to being together for now.”  
  
“Deal.” He leaned in and kissed her.  
  
“I can get used to this."  
  
He smiled. “Good. 'Cause you'll have to,” the smile disappeared again, “but first we'll need to find Crane and deal with him.”  
  
“No,” Felicity objected.  
  
Stunned, Oliver looked at her. “No?”  
  
“No. Because first we need to have breakfast.” Felicity pushed the comforter off, “we can't skip the most important meal of the day. We should go ahead and make this a rule.”  
  
Oliver watched her walk through the room, letting his eyes glide over the curves of her naked body, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. He could really get used to having this every day, starting with this view and continuing with breakfast.

 

*******

 

It was as it had always been in the Foundry. Felicity was sitting at her desk, working on finding Crane. She had said something about checking security cameras near the empty warehouse, and then she turned to her screens and since then she was lost in whatever she was doing there. Meanwhile, Oliver and Diggle were sparring in their training area. They were using stakes tonight as Diggle felt like he needed to improve his technique there. The constant clacking of the wooden rods hitting against each other mixed with their occasional grunts. Diggle was really getting better at this, he was challenging Oliver more and more – just the way he liked it. He needed to improve his skills, he needed to be kept on his toes, he needed to get better to not be bested. Because he knew that as much as he needed Felicity to be safe, Felicity needed him to come out of fights as uninjured as possible. They hadn't discussed it this morning, but he knew that worry wasn't a one-way street.  
  
As much as everything was as it had always been nothing was the same anymore. It wasn't visible, but he could feel it. It wasn't a bad feeling, much to the opposite, but it was still there.  
  
“Got'cha!”  
  
Felicity's sudden outburst caused both men to stop their fighting and look toward her desk. “You have Crane?” Oliver asked and was already heading toward her.  
  
Not taking her eyes off her computer, Felicity answered, “I do.” Her fingers still flew over the keyboard, “but I can't help but feel like he wanted me to find him. He was much better with covering his tracks before. He's practically holding up a sign saying come and get me. And it's so very cliché, but I guess psychiatrists are not known for their originality. Did you know that they really ask you how stuff makes you feel?”  
  
Oliver didn't answer. He had a question of his own, “Where is he?”  
  
“At Starling City Asylum, or rather at what is left of it after the fire,” now she looked at him for the first time, “do you want to know how I feel about this; it feels like a trap to me.”  
  
“Felicity's right,” Diggle said and crossed his arms over his chest. The black tank-top he wore for their training left his arms bare, showing off his flexing muscles. Tension was also visible in his face. “This is a trap. He wants you to come so he can finish what he started.”  
  
“I'm better prepared this time.”  
  
“How? Are you planning to take a gas-mask?” Felicity frowned at her own words, “that might actually be a good idea.”  
  
“No, it isn't,” Oliver objected, “that would be limiting my view.”  
  
“Oliver,” Diggle said in that reasonable way of his, “going there unprepared again won't end well. I don't want a repeat of your last run-in with Crane.”  
  
“Neither do I. But the doctors told me that they believe that the antidote Star Labs came up with might make me immune. Like a vaccine.”  
  
“That's nothing but a theory.”  
  
Oliver nodded to Diggle's words. “It is. And I'm going to test it.” He felt Felicity's eyes on him. It was another reminder that things had changed, but that wouldn't change his mind. He looked at her and said, his voice all business, “I AM going to test it.”  
  
Felicity huffily crossed her arms over her chest, but thankfully said nothing.  
  
“Well, I'm going, too,” Diggle decided, “and I'll take a gas-mask.”  
  
Oliver looked at his partner for a few moments, before he nodded, “Okay.” It was time to get ready. He hesitated for a second, but then he leaned down and kissed Felicity gently. “I'll be careful,” he promised.  
  
The look on her face stated clearly that she seriously doubted it, but before she could also voice these doubts, Diggle spoke up from next to them, “finally! I thought I'd never see the day. I should have known that it would take a near-death-experience for you to finally come to your senses.”

 

*******

 

The smell of fire was still in the air, even though the fire had been extinguished days ago. Maybe it was just Oliver's imagination, his memory of what this place had smelled like when he had been here surrounded by fire searching for a woman who had called him for help. He remembered what it had felt like to inhale nothing but foul smoke.  
  
Felicity was right, this was a very clichéd place for a psychiatrist getting off on other people's phobias to be. It could be the perfect setting for a nightmare. Oliver knew it was stupid to allow his mind to go there. This was not the time, because this was the time to end it. His steps were determined as he walked through the burnt ruin. He knew where Crane would be, because it fit the cliché too. Crane wanted him where Count Vertigo had once been held by Dr. Webb. It was going full circle, Crane was the kind of person to appreciate things like that.  
  
Crane was lucky that this room lay in the basement, the fire had completely destroyed the upper floors, but it had only left his traces down here. Oliver walked past blacked walls and over grime covered floors, not even trying to be quiet. He knew that his opponent was expecting him. But Oliver was expecting him also; his bow was drawn, he wouldn't make the same mistake twice. He would not let himself get distracted by idle chitchat this time.  
  
His bow entered first as he pushed through the swing-door. Scanning the room he let his eyes wander over the familiar outlay which the fire had altered into something more bare. There wasn't any more foil or chemical equipment, there weren't any tables, all that was gone. But there still was the chair and it was occupied by a man whose head was covered by a burlap sack. It wasn't Crane. Oliver saw that instantly, this man was much bulkier than Crane was and smaller. This man was a distraction that Oliver wouldn't fall for. His knees bent, he went through the room in a wide circle, instead of heading straight ahead toward the chair. Oliver's eyes were still moving over blacked walls and the pillars that held up what was left of the ceiling. The floor was covered with rubble, which forced Oliver to take careful steps.  
  
Then he saw movement out of the corner of his eyes. Instantly, he turned to it and his face hardened. Orange gas was shooting out of a grenade that was rolling over the floor. A second followed and more gas, which was thick like dry ice fog. It didn't only limit Oliver's view, it was spreading quick, bringing something with him that Oliver wasn't willing to think about now. A third grenade rolled over the floor, directly toward the chair and the man sitting in it. With quick steps Oliver walked to the chair and to the man whose arms and legs, as Oliver now saw, were tied to it. With a quick movement Oliver pulled the burlap sack off his head. Immediately, his mouth tightened as he saw who was under the hood. Roy. How, the hell, did he always end up in situations like this?  
  
The younger man blinked, then his eyes settled on Oliver. Before Roy could say anything – because there really was NO time to loose – Oliver reached toward his quiver, where the gas mask Felicity had forced him to bring was dangling. He grabbed it and strapped it in front of Roy's face.  
  
“What the-” was Roy's reaction, but Oliver really didn't have time for this. He cut the straps binding his arms and legs and ordered the younger man to, “Get out of here! NOW!”  
  
“But I can help you,” came Roy's objection dimmed by the mask.  
  
Annoyance was collecting inside Oliver. That kid could never do as he was TOLD! This wasn't the time to have a discussion. This was a dangerous situation and Roy, and his dumb-ass behavior, only increased the danger! Oliver couldn't deal with this now, he had to deal with Crane. The thick fog was surrounding them by now. There was no way to see – and unlike the last time Crane didn't feel much like talking. Indicating for Roy to be quiet with an unmistakable gesture, Oliver closed his eyes and listened. He heard the sough of the gas as it sprayed out of the grenades; the sound came from all around him. But then he heard something else, he heard the sound of somebody walking while trying not to make a sound coming from – directly behind him. In one swift movement, Oliver turned around. He needed to take three steps before he could make out the shadow in the midst. It was Crane. The top hat gave him a very unique silhouette.  
  
Oliver attacked it instantly. He brought his fist toward where he knew Crane's face was, but the other man moved out of his way in what seemed like an uncoordinated stumble. Like a drunken man he faltered out of his reach while bringing his own clenched fist to Oliver's face with so much force that Oliver nearly lost his balance. Anger was growing inside Oliver. Anger at himself for once again being caught by surprise. Anger at Crane for being so damn DIFFICULT! He jumped at Crane again, this time with more determination. His feet connected with Crane's chest in the next moment, knocking him back. Oliver followed and brought his fist up. He felt Crane's nose break as he brought it down onto his face.  
  
This should have distracted Crane, should have slowed him down, but it did neither. Instead, it made Crane laugh. Blood was running from his nose in a steady flow, dropping from his chin onto his cheap suit. In the mist that was still all around Oliver couldn't make out details, but he saw Crane straighten up and grin his teeth-baring smile, which was even more horrible now that his face and teeth were all bloody. “What demons are you fighting against, Mister Arrow? Who am I to you?”  
  
“Just a psychopath whose time is up, Mister Crane.”  
  
Crane's silhouette stilled as he heard that. Oliver didn't give the realization that his toxin wasn't working anymore time to really sink in. He attacked the skinny man again, who roared with anger and used his clumsy looking drunken boxing to kick Oliver's legs away. “It's Doctor Crane!” he spat.  
  
Oliver rolled around and jumped back to his feet. Crane was coming for him already, but he blocked the other man's jabs before he added hits of his own. The fight was fast and aggressive, a staccato of thrown fists, some connecting, some blocked. Crane fought like the mad-man that he was, showing a skill that Oliver would have never expected, as he managed to kick Oliver into the nearest wall. His back connected painfully with it, pain shooting through his spine. Oliver ignored it and moved to the right, causing Crane to slam his fist against the wall, hitting the solid surface at full force. He heard bones break, turned around and reached for Crane's head to slam it into the wall, forcefully, once, twice – and a third time for good measure. He let go of his opponent, who sank to the ground, unconscious.  
  
It was done.  
  
Breathing heavily, Oliver stood there. It was then that he realized that the adrenaline combined with the exertion of the fight weren't the only reasons why his heart was beating so heavily. The fog of the gas was still billowing in the room, but it had dissolved somewhat. This allowed Oliver to scan the room and see a figure laying by the chair. Oliver felt his heart beat even faster. His worry was somehow enhanced, stronger than usual. He had to get out of there, as fast as possible. He grabbed Crane by the collar of his dirty suit and dragged him over to where Roy lay.  
  
The kid hadn't taken the gas mask off, but still he was spread out on the floor, unmoving. Giving in to the increasing worry, Oliver reached for Roy's pulse and found it, beating strong and unnaturally fast. Damn it! He lifted Crane up to the chair and tied him there.  
  
“Oliver?” It was Diggle's voice coming through his ear-piece.  
  
“It's done.” He informed him. “Felicity, tell Lance where he can find Crane and tell him to bring chemical experts and full body suits.” He lifted Roy up, “gas masks are not enough.“ He headed toward the door, “I have to get Roy to hospital. And we need Star Lab to get us some of that cure to store at the Foundry.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I think I could use a top up.” With that he kicked the door open, leaving Crane for SCPD to find. It was really done.

 


	12. The Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little sad that this is ending already, I know, but I feel like this story is told, the plot is complete and stretching it wouldn't do it any good. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. It really was fun and I am very positive that we'll read each other again soon. ;-)
> 
> A huge and heartfelt thank you to everybody who took the time to support this story by sending me kudos, by bookmarking it or leaving a comment. All of this meant a lot to me. Thank you so so much! I especially want to thank **BellaPaige88** and **Albiona** for their continuous support in the last weeks, reading your thoughts on this story was amazing. I am very thankful.  <3
> 
> As always, Gina was nice enough to check this chapter, but after she did I felt like changing huge parts, so don't blame any mistakes on her - they are all mine.
> 
> Thanks again. You guys are amazing and now... Enjoy!

**12\. The Epilogue (** **† † †** **** **)  
**   
When the Arrow brought somebody to your hospital you shouldn't ask for insurance details. It was a lesson the doctor who had been surprised by the Arrow had learned – painfully. The doctor, who had been smoking behind the hospital when the Arrow had laid an unmoving boy in a red hoodie at his feet and had told him that said boy needed the medicine they had developed for Oliver Queen, would never make this stupid mistake again.  
**  
**The bruised lip was a perfect reminder.  
  
It was also a sign that Oliver's restraint hadn't been all that after the fight with Crane and being exposed to the altered version of Vertigo, again.  
  
And now said doctor was being thanked by Moira Queen for being a humanitarian, for helping without questioning and saving the life of somebody close to her family. It was the start of the new health program the Queen family donated for the un-insured of Starling City.  
  
An election campaign was so much easier when you had money...  
  
Just by the way Oliver held her hand Felicity knew how tense he was. The tension was leaking from him while he was sporting his professional face. But she could see right through the professionalism. She knew that Oliver wished he could hit the smug doctor again, who now took the praise for something he had needed to be threatened into doing. Felicity knew all this, because she just knew Oliver. She knew him even though he hadn't been her boyfriend for a long time. In fact, he had been her boyfriend for such a short time that the newness of thinking of him as her boyfriend still caused an excited tingle to spread all through her. It was a little bit childish, but she enjoyed the sound of it, of calling him “my boyfriend Oliver” even in the privacy of her own head. She knew it would never get old.  
  
This press-outing was much the opposite. Felicity had tried to get out of it, but she had missed the meeting of the women's club Moira wanted her to join, because she had needed to track rocket launchers that had popped up in Starling back to the military base they had been stolen from. That must be the best reason for skipping an evening filled with small-talk and expensive champagne, but Felicity hadn't been able to give it to anyone. Instead, she had panicked, when Moira had asked why she had failed to show up to her introduction to the Starling City Women's Charity Association, and had told Moira she had fallen asleep.  
  
Of course, Oliver's mother had believed that to be some kind of euphemism for sex.  
  
The conversation that had followed had been so awkward that Felicity had simply agreed to get up on this stage today. It was the lesser of two evils – and it seemed to be finally ending right now. Moira's speech was over, the press had taken all their pictures, all hands had been shaken, all smiles had been smiled. A sigh of relief left Felicity's lips, when she was climbing down the improvised podium which had been placed in front of the hospital followed by Oliver. She would never get used to this, she hated that this was a part of being with Oliver – she hated this even more than the recurring lethal danger which was also a part of being with Oliver.  
  
As she now turned to look at him, she saw undeniable proof of this in the form of fading bruises. The signs of his fight with Crane were still there all over his face, marking him. Officially, he had cited yet another motorcycle-accident. He really needed to come up with another excuse, if he didn't want to gain the image of the most reckless and worst driver _ever_. Dr. Frank Greyston, the medical director of the hospital, now stopped next to her and Oliver. “Mr. Queen, we are very grateful for your family's gracious donation.”  
  
Oliver was all business. “It was the least we could do.”  
  
“I am very pleased to hear that your recovery was a swift one. And it is very good news that your mother's polling numbers are as promising as they are,” the hospital-boss said. “Your mother will be a wonderful major.”  
  
“There are still a few months 'til the election,” Oliver reminded.  
  
Greyston was about to say something to this, when Felicity felt her cell phone vibrate in her purse. Jumping on the opportunity to get away from this fake conversation, she sent the men a small smile, “Please, excuse me.” She put a few steps between them and her, while she reached for her phone. When she glanced at the display the picture of her mother greeted her. Felicity knew that this wasn't the best time, but it gave her an excuse to avoid small-talk with an overly polite medical director. Plus, the Smoak women had promised each other to get better at keeping contact – this was a good moment to keep this promise and not ignore the call, “Hi, mom.”  
  
“Lizzy, I'm glad that you took my advice. Your hair looked beautiful on TV.”  
  
Felicity kept from sighing, “Thanks, mom.”  
  
“But the color of Moira's suit washed her out. Your aunt Gloria agrees.”  
  
Now Felicity really sighed. This was her mother's way of supporting her, she knew, but all this back-biting really wasn't necessary. Moira and Felicity had reached a mutual understanding while waiting for Oliver to wake up after his Vertigo-poisoning. They had agreed to call it a truce without actually saying anything. But Felicity was not in the mood to discuss that with her mother. Suddenly she remembered why it was so exhausting to talk to her, “I'm still at the hospital-thing, mom. I can't really talk right now.”  
  
Of course, Donna Smoak ignored her. “Who knew you could see Starling City News on the internet! Milo showed us, it was a steam.”  
  
“Stream,” Felicity correctly automatically.  
  
“Yeah, that. Who knew that dumbass son of your aunt was good for something! I mean, after all, he's too stupid to use a condom correctly. Can you believe he knocked his girlfriend up? And he wants this girl to move in with them! But Gloria has no intention to give up her room. You know how much she likes to paint.”  
  
Yes, her aunt loved arts. Sadly, arts didn't love her back. The clumsy drawings that hung framed all over her apartment were proof enough.  
  
Her mother obviously wasn't really expecting an answer from Felicity. The older Smoak woman just kept talking, “I also saw on the Starling news that that reporter, who you thought recorded your conversation with Oliver, was arrested.”  
  
“Yes,” Felicity fought to keep her voice even. “I heard that, too.”  
  
“Apparently, he was really into that eaves-dropping thing, huh? Bugged offices of politicians too.”  
  
That was true. “Still, all everybody talks about is that he also spied on Oliver and me,” Felicity muttered before she could stop herself.  
  
“Well, baby, a Smoak woman is always more interesting than any politician. Believe me, I've met enough.” Donna Smoak was dead-serious about this, it was audible in her voice. As if it were an afterthought, she added, “I read that your local Robin Hood handed that reporter over to the police, complete with perfect proof to lock him up on a USB-stick. Good to know that guy is on your side.”  
  
“Yes,” Felicity agreed and left it at that.  
  
Donna didn't seem to mind, she was already on the next topic, “Oliver looked very handsome on the stream. Gloria said so, too.”  
  
Felicity glanced at Oliver, who had ended his talk with Greyston and was walking toward her. “Well, if Gloria said so...”  
  
Donna ignored her daughter's snappiness. “Are things good between you and Oliver?”  
  
“Yes, mom, they are.”  
  
“I just ask because things seemed tense when I left you.”  
  
“They were.” Felicity admitted. “But we made up. All is well.”  
  
“You know I just want you to be happy.”  
  
“I know. And I am. More than ever.” She smiled at Oliver, who now stopped next to her. “Mom, I'll call you back tomorrow, okay? I'm really can't talk more right now.”  
  
“You're all work and no play.”  
  
“You can tell me tomorrow. I promise.”  
  
“I will. Bye, baby.”  
  
“Bye, mom.”  
  
A small smile tugged on the corners of Oliver's mouth. “Everything okay in Vegas?”  
  
“My aunt Gloria approves of your handsomeness.” Felicity hesitated for a second. “I feel like I should apologize for this sentence, but then I think I don't have to. It's okay that I find you handsome, right? Even though, I probably shouldn't just say it like that. That's a little dorky... I wish I could just make up my mind, if it's okay to say something before I actually say it.”  
  
He didn't say anything; he simply kissed her. Amusement was shining in his eyes when their lips parted again. He kept his face close to hers when he said, “It wouldn't be you, if you did.” She felt like disagreeing with this, but he continued before she could say anything, “and you look beautiful yourself.”  
  
“It's the hair. My mom already complimented that I didn't pull it u-” She saw the way he looked at her and decided to stop right there and instead just go with a simple, “thank you.”  
  
They looked at each other for another moment, their eyes connected in silent communication, which caused a small smile to show on Felicity's face. She understood what he was telling her without actually saying it, and she enjoyed that a lot. Somehow after so many, many months of complicated dances around each other and around their true feelings, everything was just so easy suddenly. It was easy to just be with him, to go from friend to girlfriend, being with him was natural, it felt so right. She knew, ultimately, it couldn't be easy. Not with what they were doing, not with all the secrets they were keeping, not with all the danger he was facing regularly, not with his volatile temper and her big mouth – but they knew exactly what they were getting themselves into. Felicity felt very well prepared to deal with any difficulty that might show up as long as he would look at her like this ‘til the end.  
  
It was her breaking the silence, “Are we done here?”  
  
“Thea and Roy are needed for more pictures, but we are free to leave.” That seemed to remind him of something, “Thea told me to tell you that she would fetch you for lunch tomorrow.”  
  
“Great!” Felicity said and meant it, spending time with Thea was always good.  
  
“Thea also asked if I started brushing up on my cultural references. I think it's time to watch this Red Wedding thing.”  
  
This stunned her. “Oliver, are you suggesting a quiet night in?”  
  
“I am. What do you say: you, me, your couch and pizza?”  
  
Okay, this was uncharted couple's territory for them, but she was willing to go there with him. She smirked, “You have yourself a date.”  
  
“Good. I'll come by after I'm done with Roy and bring the pizza.”  
  
Felicity kept from rolling her eyes. After Roy had been captured by Crane and nearly died from being exposed to Vertigo, Felicity had told Oliver about Thea's worries, and they just had to accept that there was no stopping Roy in his quest to be like the Arrow. But in the state he was in and with the level of skill he currently possessed, he was a danger to him as well as to others. The training sessions had started a week ago and until now things weren't going well, which meant that Oliver probably wouldn't be in the best mood when he showed up at her door tonight.  
  
“I also promise to bring my best behavior.” It was as if he had read her thoughts. This caused her to smile.  
  
He was about to say more, when suddenly John Diggle popped up next to them. “I’ll be waiting for you by the car in five minutes. We have to get going.” Seeing the proverbial question mark on both their faces, he added, “A group of masked people stormed a movie theatre in Lamb Valley and barricaded themselves inside. They want ten million dollars.”  
  
Without saying another word, Oliver started walking toward where he knew Diggle had parked the car. Felicity was moving already, too, but she couldn't help but sigh. “There goes our quiet night in.”  
  
Oliver looked at her, “We'll have more than enough of those. I promise.”  
  
She so would make sure of that.  
  
  
**The End**

 


End file.
